A Distant War
by northernexposure
Summary: Section D is once again forced to clear up a mess of MI-6's making.
1. Chapter 1

A Distant War

Summary: Section D is forced to clear up another mess of MI-6's making.

A/N: Set late season four, post Fiona's death but pre-4.10. To date I have written H/R stuff, and I'm hoping to put a modicum of that into this story, but I'm not sure how or when yet. Reviews would be lovely. Hope you like it. Thanks for reading!

* * *

He looked up. The vegetation was dense, the jungle foliage closely-packed. Still, he could just make out the brilliant blue of the island sky, painting the spaces between the leaves of the tallest trees. Everything was peaceful. Even the insects were quiet. Everything was silent, still. Such a contrast to the horror of earlier.

He didn't know how long he'd been crouched there, afraid to move in case of showing his position. The best he could hope for was that they would assume he was as dead as the rest of them. Beside him lay the body of the man who had brought him here, hideously pock-marked in death. It was as silent as the forest, now, but nonetheless was made eloquent by the riddle of bullets that had torn open its chest. He'd seen a lot of violence and suffering in his day. That was his job, after all, to chase the ruin of war and pestilence across the planet. To make sense of it for those that could not see it for themselves. But here, now… he could make sense of nothing.

He rubbed one hand over his eyes, exhausted by his fear. Soon night would begin to fall and he was alone here, here in this world of green and brown and blood and slaughter. If he didn't move soon, he'd die, if not of cold, then of snakebite.

He forced himself to stand, holding his breath as the leaves brushed against his torn clothing, willing the susurration not to give him away. He moved, slowly, one foot after another, out of the thicket into which he had plunged when the bullets began to pepper the air. He felt for his bag, and found it still slung across his shoulder. No doubt the small camera he always carried would be smashed beyond repair. _No time to check. Must keep moving. Must get out, get help, get home._

His hands were shaking, fingers skittering against his sides. His legs were coming back to life, the blood pumping freely, painfully, now that he had finally moved.

He'd gone no further than ten feet when he heard a sound in front of him – a crack, a snap, that was all – and suddenly he was surrounded. The falling dark did not conceal the gun barrel that swung towards him, or the gaunt, determined faces of his ambushers.

He knew enough about the language to understand what they said next. With the gun muzzle at his back, he was forced into movement, stumbling through the undergrowth. The jungle was no longer silent.

* * *

Harry shut the file with a determined snap and pushed it back across the table. "Juliet. This is no concern of MI-5's."

Juliet raised an eyebrow, a slight glint of something approaching amusement in her eye. "Funny, I had a feeling you might say that."

"Then why in devil's name show it to me?" Harry waved at the pile of unopened files already on his desk. "A little light reading? I've got plenty already. A journalist missing in Tamil territory? Take it back to MI-6, it's more within their remit than ours."

Juliet stood, walking to the window of his office and looking out with her hands on her hips. Adam Carter passed and glanced up, tipping her a slight nod of greeting. "Carter doing okay, is he? No more cracks threatening to show?"

"He's as well as can be expected. Which is better than most, despite what he's suffered." Harry leaned back in his chair, "If you have something to tell me, Juliet, please make it quick."

Juliet turned back from the window with a nod. "All right. Six want Adam Carter back," she held up a hand before Harry could protest, "just on a temporary basis."

"Absolutely not."

"Hear me out, Harry."

"I will not," he pointed at the file she'd wanted him to read. "If Six have screwed up yet another operation, they can sort out their own mess. They're not taking my Section Chief to do it. "

"Harry…"

"_Juliet_."

She sighed, settling herself into the chair opposite him. "Harry, look. There's more to this than meets the eye."

"Why am I not surprised? And yet, I'm still not interested."

"You may not have a choice. This is coming directly from the Foreign Office. Something has to be done, and Six want Carter to handle it. He knows Sri Lanka from an operation he ran for the service four years ago."

"He's not a specialist on the area. The Middle East is what he knows."

"He's the closest thing we've got. Or at least, the closest we've got with his sort of field experience." Juliet shook her head. "This isn't just about the journalist, Harry, and it needs sorting, quickly. Read the file. Then call me. And don't mistake this for a friendly request you can ignore."

She left, the smell of her perfume lingering in the air. Harry clenched and unclenched his jaw, willing his anger to subside. He would not allow MI-6 to ride roughshod over Section D. They were getting too arrogant, too powerful. He wondered where it would lead. Nowhere good, he was certain of that.

With a sigh, Harry reached for the file and slid it back towards him.

* * *

"Hold on. Say that again. They've done _what_?"

Adam Carter regarded his Section Head with disbelief, sure that for once, Harry Pearce must have got something wrong.

"You heard me correctly, I'm afraid. MI-6 ran an operation aiming to end the 30-year conflict in Sri Lanka. Actually, I should say 'are running', as it's still active. Which is where you come in."

Adam shook his head. "But that was the op they had me on four years ago. They wanted to find out if there was a viable way of getting extra arms to the government, under UN radar. In return the UK would get mineral mining rights in the Tamil-occupied areas once the insurgency was neutralised."

Harry nodded, unsurprised. "But the plan fell through?"

"Yes. The Foreign Office pulled the plug at the last minute. Cold feet. Can't say I wasn't pleased. I was never keen on the idea. Every report I sent back I pointed out the pitfalls. It was a bloody stupid notion." Adam shook his head. "And now you're telling me they're trying it again?"

"Apparently. Seems it's just as foolhardy a plan now as it was then. The agent running the operation, Jonathan Spence, was murdered by Tamil separatists last week."

"But where does the journalist come into it?"

Harry sighed. "This is where it gets murky. Stephen Thomas has been a vocal supporter of the Tamils for some years. He was booted from the BBC because of it, and has been freelance ever since. Six think he somehow got wind of the operation and was investigating. It's possible he had even managed to pose as an asset. Certainly he was in the area when Spence and his team were killed."

"And his body hasn't been recovered?"

"No – moreover, Six's intelligence sources in the area have recovered chatter about a Western hostage that matches Thomas' description."

Adam shrugged. "Why would the Tamil's imprison an advocate of their cause?"

"There's no reason to believe they would know anything about him or his political stance," said Harry. "Even if they did… a Western hostage is a Western hostage."

Carter shook his head. "I still don't get it. We don't negotiate with terrorists. And to be frank, this is just one journalist – who may well have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but only because he put himself there. Why are they bothering us with this?"

"Because Six think Thomas knows where the weapons cache is. And if he knows that, and the Tamil's get the information out of him… the war will swing dramatically in favour of the rebels."

"Weapons cache?"

"The weapons the British government were planning to hand over to the Sri Lankan army. They're already in the country. Except no one knows where. Spence's seems to have moved them prior to their deaths."

Adam stared at the table for a moment, taking it all in. "They want me back, don't they? To retrieve the journalist?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. And as loathe as I am to let you go, Adam, I don't think I'm going to have much choice in the matter."

They were silent for a time, Harry letting his younger colleague mull over the task before him.

"I'll do it," Carter said at last. "But on one condition. If I'm going in, I want Section D to run me. I don't trust anyone at MI-6 anymore. I don't want them anywhere near me for this. They've done enough damage already. So that's the deal. I'll do it, but it has to be with Five. Or I'll walk. Simple as."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. Chapter 2

A Distant War

Pt 2

A/N: I'm having fun with this – I hope it reads well. Reviews are lovely, and the only payment available for fanfic!

* * *

Zafar Younis sidled up to Ruth Evershed's workstation, eyes glued to the briefing room door. He settled against her desk, thigh brushing her chair and his back to her computer screen, and waited until she noticed. Ruth slid off her headphones.

"Zaf."

"Ruth."

There was a pause. "Was there something..?" she prompted.

"Juliet was in Harry's office earlier."

"Yes."

"Then Harry was in Harry's office earlier. For quite a long time."

"Yes."

"Now Adam and Harry are in the briefing room."

"Yes again."

"They've been in there for over _two hours_."

"Y-" Ruth stopped with a sigh. "Zaf…"

"What's going on?"

"I have no idea."

"Come on, Ruth, spill. We're supposed to be a team."

"What makes you think I know anything?"

Zaf turned to look at her for the first time, his dark eyes glinting playfully. "Because you know everything. And what you don't know, Harry tells you."

Ruth looked away. "That's not true."

"It is."

"It's _not_."

"It_ is_."

"It's – _Zaf_!" Ruth, exasperated, waved at her screen. "I have work to do."

"What about Baghdad?"

She looked up at him, all wide blue eyes and butter-wouldn't-melt innocence. "What _about_ Baghdad?"

"Rumour has it you've been."

"I haven't."

"I bet you have."

"I _haven't_…"

"You haven't what?" Jo Portman appeared in front of Ruth's desk, her unruly blonde hair glinting in the artificial light of the Grid.

Zaf looked over his shoulder with a grin. "Ruth's denying she's ever been to Baghdad."

"You've been to Baghdad?" Jo asked, surprised.

Ruth stood up, for lack of any other way to end the conversation. "For goodness' sake! I have _not_ been to Baghdad. Okay? Now, can I please…"

"She has," said Zaf, with authority. "With Harry."

She turned on him, cheeks flushed. "Zaf. Don't be ridiculous. What would I be doing in Baghdad? What would a _desk analyst_ be doing in Baghdad?"

"Good question."

Harry saved Ruth by opening the briefing room door and beckoning to them. "In here, all of you. Malcolm and Colin, too. Now."

* * *

"I don't like this," were Zaf's first words, once Adam had filled them all in.

Adam flicked off the projector and sat down. "You and me both, mate."

"I'm afraid whether we like this operation or not is a moot point," interjected Harry. "It has landed on our plate and we will deal with it as required."

"What did Six say to Adam's condition?" asked Ruth.

Harry shrugged. "They weren't happy, but they'll live with it."

"Are we equipped to handle such a big overseas operation from here?" Jo asked, "What about fixers in the field? Assets? Backup once Adam's on the ground? How is this all going to work?"

"We can handle it," Adam said, with confidence. "It'll just take some organisation. The team in Sri Lanka will mainly be for extraction. As for actually freeing the journalist – assuming he's still alive – I'll have to employ guerrilla tactics anyway. In those parts, it's easier to get in and get out if you're on your own. So backup won't be much help until after I've got him out."

"You can't go in there alone," said Zaf. "It'd be suicide."

Carter grinned. "Zaf. Have a little faith, would you?"

"Bravado isn't going to save you in that environment."

"No, but skill and preparation will. I can handle this."

Zaf looked at their Section Head. "Harry, I think I should go too."

"No deal," Adam said, with finality. "I'm going alone. Believe me, I'll be safer that way."

"That's rubbish. You need someone to watch your back." Zaf indicated his face, "and let's face it, in that part of the world I'm going to blend in far better than you will."

"Oh yes? Speak the language, do you? Or should I say, languages? Although to be frank, even if you did I think your South London accent would give you away…"

"You…"

Harry cut them both off. "Zafar. While your loyalty is admirable, I think that in this case it can be put to better use elsewhere. We'll need you here more than ever in Adam's absence. Adam, I have faith in you, but don't push it. Let's decide what your cover's going to be and go from there."

Zaf leaned back in his chair, jaw clenched. Adam clapped him on the shoulder. "Honestly mate, I'm grateful. But I can handle this."

"Famous last words," the younger man muttered under his breath, as the conversation moved on.

It was decided that Adam would pose as a naturalist, Nicholas Draper, assessing the effect the war was having on the native wildlife and fauna. He would be working on assignment for _National Geographic_, and Ruth would work out a more detailed personal legend for the married father of three.

"Backup even after the event won't be instant, or plentiful," Ruth pointed out. "You'll have to get at least as far as the reaches of the Tamil Tiger-occupied region before they'll be able to get to you, possibly further depending on activity in the area at the time. That's a long way to go, and even under best-case-scenario terms, you've got to expect you'll be escorting a walking wounded."

Adam nodded. "It's doable, but that terrain is dense and difficult at the best of times." He tapped a pen on the table. "I'll walk in, from the border, at the point of expected egress. I'll leave caches of supplies – medical, food, water – along the route. Walking in will also preserve my legend for as long as possible."

"What about communications?" Harry asked. "Malcolm, Colin – what can you give us?"

Colin shook his head. "There's not going to be much."

"There's just no way of giving him a transmitter small enough to carry but big enough to broadcast to us from that distance," agreed Malcolm.

"Unless…" Colin began to trace patterns on the table in front of him, brow furrowed in a familiar frown. "What about the spy satellite over India?"

Malcolm shook his head. "That's still too far."

"Not if we piggyback it on another signal."

"Where from?"

Harry held up a hand. "Can you do it?"

Colin nodded. "I think so."

"That's good enough for me. Make it work, I want ears on this."

Ruth spoke up, pen flexing anxiously between her fingers. "Do we have any leads on where, exactly, they may be holding Stephen Thomas, if they have him?"

"Leave that to me," said Adam. "I've still got contacts in Sri Lanka. It shouldn't take too much to activate them again."

Harry placed both palms on the table. "Jo, I want you to work with Ruth to put this legend together. Zaf, help Adam with his route and compiling the equipment he'll need. All right, everyone. You know what you have to do. Let's put it all in to practice."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Chapter 3

Distant War pt 3

A/N: As always, thanks for reading.

* * *

Ruth knocked briefly before sticking her head around the door of Harry's office.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked, "only I need to talk to you about Wootton Bassett."

"No, no." Harry abandoned the open file in front of him as she came into the room. "Just going over this Tamil business again." He caught the subtle change in her expression. "Penny for them, Ruth?"

"Nothing. It's - nothing."

"Come on. What are you thinking?"

Ruth shrugged. "That Six have played us. They knew Adam would request that Five run him. They always intended for us alone to do the dirty work on this. It's going to be messy and they want plausible deniability."

Harry nodded. "Agreed."

"Though I don't suppose there's anything we can do about it."

"Not a thing. This time. Except get Adam in and out of there in one piece, that is."

Ruth shook her head. "Are you sure he's up to this?"

"He seems pretty sure. Certain, in fact."

"Exactly. You don't think he's - I don't know, being a little too gung-ho about this? After Fiona-" Ruth sighed. "I just worry he's deliberately putting himself in harm's way."

Harry leaned forward with a frown. "Are you seriously concerned about his mental state?"

"No… No, not really. Not any more. He just - he just seems to want to prove that he doesn't need anyone. That he can do it all alone. Take Wes - look how long it took him to accept he needed help there. And with this-" She cut herself off. "I'm talking out of turn, I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head. "I know it's kindly meant, Ruth. But I think perhaps this operation could be his salvation, rather than his downfall."

Ruth looked down at her fingers, twisting together above the files she clutched to her chest. "I hope you're right."

Harry nodded. "On to other matters, then, for now. What have you got?"

She held out the paperwork she'd brought with her, and took a seat in the chair opposite him. "I'm now almost completely convinced that radicals within this group - Youths For A United Islam UK - will try something the next time we have a repatriation at RAF Lyneham."

"They want to stage a legal demonstration?" Harry flicked through the file, acquainting himself with the basics.

"Yes. And that in itself is not a problem, obviously, although one could question their sensitivity. But there are elements within the group who want to use it as cover for an attack. And their voices are getting stronger."

"Then we give the police this intelligence and get them to ban the protest."

"It's not as simple as that. This intel came with a pre-emptive proviso that we do everything we can to let the demonstration go ahead. The Home Office is under pressure." Ruth shrugged, "There's an element of the 'enough rope' principle going on - however legitimate their complaints about civillian deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan, the British public aren't going to like seeing the people of Wootton Bassett harangued as they salute our dead soldiers. But also - the negative press around banning the demonstration will be huge."

Harry steepled his fingers, already seeing where this was leading. "So the one option we have is to put one of ours on the inside. Head the radical elements off, allow the others to continue."

"Yes. We have an asset already in place willing to position an agent for us. All we need to do is make the assignment."

"Which would be Zaf, of course."

"He is the obvious choice, yes."

Harry nodded. "Very well. Give him a duplicate file, and I'll call a briefing for two hours' time. Let's get the ball rolling as quickly as possible on this."

* * *

"I'm not sure you look much like a naturalist." Zaf stood in the doorway of the storeroom, leaning against the lintel with his arms crossed as he watched Adam pack his last equipment bag. "Aren't they supposed to be nerdy and good-looking in an understated way?"

Adam looked up at him. "Nerdy _and _good-looking?"

Zaf moved to help him strap up the bag. "Yeah. Like Benedict Allen, or Bruce Parry."

"Benedict Allen is an explorer, not a naturalist. Bruce Parry, too, And Parry - you think he's good-looking?" Adam straightened up with a frown. "Really?"

"Not personally, you understand, but Jo seems to think he is, so..."

Adam nodded, aware that the light tone of Zaf's banter was hiding a serious note. He let silence reign for a couple of minutes, before saying, "It's going to be all right, you know. This op. I know you wanted to be there - and I'm grateful. But this is for the best."

The younger man nodded. "Yeah, I know. I was just... thinking about Wes, that's all. If anything happened to you now…"

It was Adam's turn to nod as a slight taint of guilt skittered across his shoulders. "I know. I know. But it won't. Promise. I'll be back in no time. This is what I do, you know? And now you're off as well, right?"

"Yeah. Not to nearly so exciting a destination either, you lucky sod."

"Pretty important op, by the sound of it."

Zaf nodded. "Not sure I'll be able to beat you in the addicted-to-danger or loose-cannon stakes for this one, though."

Adam grinned. "Never mind. Next time. Maybe."

He swung around, lifting one of the small packs on to his back as Zaf mirrored his action. They found themselves looking through the open door, out onto the Grid. Ruth and Jo were adding the finishing touches to Adam's legend, dark head and blonde one huddled close over the desk.

"The big question is, of course," said Adam, "Who's going to take care of the women while we're away?"

Zaf nodded. "I'm worried too, mate. I mean, can we really trust Harry and Colin and Malcolm with the safety of these women?"

"They might lose them."

"Sell them to the enemy hordes."

"Neglect them."

"Forget to buy them flowers."

Adam looked at Zaf from the corner of his eye. "Are you telling me you've bought Jo flowers?"

"As if."

Adam nodded. "Of course, it's likely that we'll only survive because they save our arses by means of their incredible genius and natural bravery."

Zaf sighed. "_That_ goes without question. In fact, you could have skipped that bit for the sake of male pride."

They headed out onto the floor. "Credit where credit's due, that's what I say."

"In which case, you still owe me a tenner from the other night."

* * *

Adam arrived in Colombo two days later, the frenetic activity of the city swallowing him whole. He was to be there for only 48 hours, having arranged from London to meet one of the assets he had used the last time he was in Sri Lanka. An 'expeditionary force' had been gathered, made up of local guides, to reinforce his cover and to help him reach his starting point. They would travel together from Colombo as far North as they could - past Vavinuya and onto the main A9 road. The A9 eventually led to Kilnochchi, the seat of rebel power, and to their stronghold costal territories beyond. Intelligence suggested that if Stephen Thomas was alive, he would be held somewhere further north, perhaps near Ampan on the coast, or more likely in the dense jungle between Ampan and Kandevalai, where the Tigers were reputed to have numerous child-soldier training camps. Adam's - or Nicholas's, as he was now - support team agreed only to take him part way along the A9. From there, he would be on his own. They had agreed to let him have a decrepit old Jeep to carry him onward, though even that would not last for long. They warned that the Tigers had mined even the smallest roads, and to drive them could cost a man's life, and if not his life, then his limbs.

As soon as he was alone, Adam was to deploy the signal-boosting device Colin had provided for him. It was in pieces in one of his kit bags, ready to be assembled. Once operating, Adam had been assured that it could pick up a signal from the smaller transmitter he was carrying and relay it to a British spy satellite currently monitoring activity in Hyderabad, India. From there it would be channeled to GCHQ, and from there to an open programme on Malcolm's computer at Thames House. It wasn't foolproof, but it was something, and despite his exterior confidence, Adam was glad to know that he would have friends listening, if not on hand. Harry had arranged for military support in the form of an SAS team, diverted as they returned from an operation in Afghanistan. They would rendezvous near Mullaitivu, on the coast, and there was a call sign in case he had to change plans at the last minute. There was, however, a limited window for their cooperation, which meant that if Adam was to have any useful back up at all, he had to move quickly.

He had a week. After that, he could expect no help at all.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 4

A Distant War pt 4

A/N: A bit short and lacking in inspiration today. Might be able to write more later. Apologies to any Tamil speakers for my terrible grammar. I never was much of a linguist, as my Serbo-Croat tutor will attest. Thank goodness for Wikitravel!

* * *

Jo sat at her desk, trying to concentrate on the task in front of her. She should have been writing a report on the new asset she'd recently recruited - her first, in fact. But instead, her mind kept wandering, wondering how Adam and Zaf were getting on. It was four days since Adam had left, which meant he'd been on the ground in Sri Lanka for around 72 hours now. They'd had an initial contact, indicating that he'd set up the relay transmitter. They expected no more for at least 12 to 24 hours while he made headway, alone, into rebel territory - with time so tight, he was moving apace. Zaf had been gone for a day, heading to Luton to take up his cover as a bored and frustrated supermarket worker. The plan was for him to bed in for a week or so before their asset introduced him to one of the group's leaders as a new friend with similar complaints to their own.

She tried to picture Zaf - exuberant, enthusiastic, Zaf - stuck behind a shopping till all day, weighing vegetables and scanning packets of pasta. She failed. And then Jo tried to imagine him walking into that crucial meeting for the first time, and shivered as her stomach turned over.

"Everything alright, Jo?" She looked up to find Ruth standing beside her workstation. "You look a bit anxious."

"Sorry. Yeah, I'm fine." Jo sighed. "It's just - difficult, you know? Being here, with them out there. Not knowing what's going on."

Ruth smiled, and for a second Jo saw the quiet strength behind her colleague's frequently nervy exterior. "Yes. _They also serve who only stand and wait._ Never a truer word written, especially in this job."

"You do it every day. How do you stand it?"

"I don't know... being prepared for every eventuality and being here when the field agents need us, I suppose. If we weren't here to provide whatever backup is required, their lives would be in even more danger. And it does get easier, after a while." Ruth shrugged. "Although the worry never leaves you."

Jo smiled. "Fancy getting a quick drink later? Not sure I'll just be able to go home. And it might stop you working a 16 hour day for a change."

* * *

Adam ran, keeping his head low and his eyes shielded as he negotiated the dense jungle brush. The ground was spongy with mulch, which made travelling on foot at speed difficult. His local team had called it a day at Puliyankulam, and he'd ditched the jeep after pulling onto the A34 to Mullativu. He'd followed the ruined jungle road a little way after the turn, trying to get as close to the town as possible, but had given up after about five miles. The roads, though in fact deathly quiet, were still too busy for his purpose, either with rebels themselves or local people too terrified not to report everything they saw in case holding something back made them traitors to the cause. A white man in this area attracted attention, and no one would wait to hear his cover before pulling the trigger. Adam had plunged into the unruly jungle before reaching the village of Amutankulam. It wasn't as close to his planned point of post-mission rendezvous as he would have liked, but it would have to do. He moved further north before planting his first cache, reasoning that doing so may allow them to move parallel to the road without being visible from it on the way out.

He'd located a stream and was following it, as closely as possible, checking his compass as he went. Keeping close to it would provide water when his own stores ran low, as they inevitably would. It was also likely that the Tiger camps would be clustered around any fresh water sources they could find.

Adam was lucky that his asset in Colombo had come through, finding a source with information about both the journalist and position of the training camps. The reliability of the source was open for debate, but Adam had no time to waste and no other options to take. Even if the information was partially true, it had narrowed his search area and given him hope that the operation wasn't a colossal waste of time - if the journalist had already been dead, his trip to Colombo would have proven pointless.

He winced as a tree branch whipped across his face. Stopping, Adam bent double and rested his hands on his knees, catching his breath. By his calculations, he was a half a day's run from the camp. He'd need a day's observation to work out where the journalist was being held and how to get in and out. He'd carry out whatever plan he formulated under cover of night, and then together he and the journalist would travel back as far back along his route as possible before daybreak. That gave him a day and half to make the SAS rendezvous. It was tight, but it was doable. It had to be, or he'd be stranded with a civillian in the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, somewhere ahead of him, he heard voices. Adam dropped to his stomach immediately, pushing himself as far into the wet undergrowth as he could and pulling his camouflage cap down around his ears. Angling his head so he could peer through the leaves, he lay still.

Three young boys were traipsing through the jungle. None of them looked older than 13, and they were dressed in ragged camouflage gear. It was the guns that chilled Adam - the boy bringing up the rear had stowed his in his pack, preferring to pick berries from the trees as he walked. But the two in front had their rifles at the ready, nonchalantly swinging them too and fro as they chattered.

"Naan yethirparthukitu erupen madhiam sapadu", called the one eating berries, his childish voice ringing out against the background jungle noise. "Ennaku koali maturm satham venum."

"Pudeengga naan," shouted back the leader.

Their arguing banter continued as they passed Adam's hiding place. He held his breath until their voices had faded into the distance. He pushed himself up, slowly, brushing off the mud. At least now he knew he was somewhere within walking distance of the camp. He stood, picking up the single pack he still had with him, and forged on through the jungle.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...


	5. Chapter 5

A Distant War pt 5

A/N: Sorry if I bored everyone yesterday. Hopefully this will make up for it. A teensy bit of fluff, although I really hope it's believable, in-character fluff. Thanks for sticking with this - I know it's slow, but I really want to make it into a properly plotted adventure for all the characters. Would love reviews...

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry turned to see Malcolm waving him over from his desk.

"You've got something?" The Section Head asked, abandoning his attempt to leave and immediately crossing the floor towards his colleague.

"Adam's just made contact again."

"And?"

"All okay. He's made it to the rebel camp – it's in a small gully and he's camped out at the top of one of the slopes."

"Good. Any sign of the journalist?"

Malcolm shook his head. "He says they've definitely got a prisoner – or prisoners – but he hasn't had eyeball confirmation that one's the journalist yet."

"He's got to move quickly," Harry mused, "but I don't like the position of the camp. He'll be at a disadvantage if he has to make his move from an elevated position. Did he give you any more information?"

"No, it was a short transmission." Malcolm looked up at Harry. "He'll manage, Harry. This is Adam Carter we're talking about."

Harry laid a large hand on the data analyst's shoulder and nodded. "You're right, of course." He sighed. "Then I suppose we're playing the waiting game again."

"Well, We play it so brilliantly, after all."

"Talking of waiting, anything from Zaf?"

"Yes, he made his report on time – he's fine, if a little bored."

"Good to know. That he's fine, that is, not that he's bored. Although I'm sure he's found a way to pep up the experience." Harry noted that despite the late hour, Malcolm was making no move to leave the Grid. "Are you staying?"

"Just for a little longer. In case Adam transmits again."

"Don't stay too late. The night duty officer will alert us if anything comes in."

"I know. That's what I told Jo and Ruth. I'd just... rather I were on the other end of the line if he needs something."

Harry nodded. "I'd stay too if I could, but I've got a late dinner with Mace. I've got to at least try to keep relations with MI-6 civil."

Malcolm grimaced. "Then you drew the short straw, I'd say."

"You couldn't be more right." Harry headed for the pods, calling over his shoulder as he went. "Oh, and call Jo, would you? She's been worrying about both of them all day."

* * *

Jo dropped her mobile back into her bag, a relieved grin plastered across her face.

"Good news then, I take it?" Ruth asked.

"That was Malcolm. He's heard from Adam and Zaf. They're both fine."

"That _is _good news."

"Yep. And it calls for another glass of wine to celebrate, don't you think?" She moved to call the wine bar's waitress, who smiled and immediately headed in their direction.

"Oh - I'm not sure I should," said Ruth, "I don't usually drink during the week, and I've already had two..."

"Make an exception tonight, for me," Jo pleaded, "please, Ruth - who else will understand what this is like? Otherwise I'll end up going back to Thames House, will pace around a lot, worrying, fall asleep on my keyboard and be useless tomorrow."

Ruth smiled. "Oh, go on then. But if I mess up because I'm hung over tomorrow, you can take the bawl-out from Harry."

Jo snorted with quiet amusement. "Yeah - as if either of those things are likely to happen."

"I've messed up plenty of times."

"Oh yes? I bet the last time was... let's see now - 1988, maybe?"

Ruth smiled indulgently, but refused to be baited. Instead, she thanked the waitress as another glass of wine appeared before her. "This is a good place," she commented, looking around the tiny South Bank bar. "I must remember it."

Jo sighed at her attempt to change the subject. "Come on, Ruth. You never talk about yourself."

Her colleague looked at her over the rim of her wine glass. "What is it that you want to know?"

"Oh... I don't know... What about – how you ended up at Section D?"

Ruth shrugged. "There's not much to tell. They needed an analyst and I was seconded from GCHQ."

"I bet you fitted in straight away," said Jo, slightly jealous. "I bet you ran rings around them from day one."

Ruth looked surprised. "No, I don't think so, not really. Yes, everyone was nice... except Harry, that is."

Jo almost spluttered over her mouthful of wine. "Really?"

"I think he... found me annoying. I– I can be annoying, I know that, I go off on tangents and include extraneous information, and–" She stopped. "And he thought I was a GCHQ mole, for a while."

"But you're okay now, obviously."

Jo saw a fleeting expression cross her colleague's face, a faraway look coupled with a brief smile that made alarm bells ring loud in her head.

"Yes," said Ruth, around another mouthful of wine. "I think we are."

"And... what about relationships? I've never heard you mention a boyfriend."

"Oh," said Ruth, "No. No - I mean I did, back at GCHQ, for a while... but it didn't really work out. And you know, this job, it's–"

"You haven't seen anyone since you joined MI-5?"

"No. Yes – I mean, I've had dates." Ruth looked uncomfortable. "But it's difficult - something always interrupts, and it's like tonight – how can you possibly have a relationship with someone outside the service when you can't be honest about what's making you happy, or sad, or anxious?" Ruth said, almost to herself, "I mean, look at poor Zoe–"

"Zoe?"

"Oh - sorry. Before your time."

Jo nodded, wondering whether to push this further. What the hell. Three glasses of wine down. The most Ruth could do was blank her for the rest of her working life. She'd thought Zaf's teasing and gossip were just Zaf being Zaf, but perhaps not.

"You haven't got your eye on anyone at the moment?"

Again, another fleeting, wistful expression passed Ruth's face before she smiled at Jo's turn of phrase. "Got my _eye_ on anyone? No. No..." she shrugged. "No one remotely attainable. Probably just as well, what with our workload."

Jo let the silence between them drift for a moment or two. She genuinely liked this woman, she realised. Ruth was quiet, nervous... you'd be forgiven for overlooking her entirely, she was such a natural wallflower. And yet when you took the time to get to know her... It was a pity she was alone. Especially when there wasn't any need for her to be.

Taking another large mouthful of wine, she said, "You could always just ask him out for a drink, you know."

Ruth frowned, puzzled. "Who?"

"I mean, I know he's your boss, but come on – it wouldn't be the first time in the history of the universe, would it? And like you say, in this profession, how else are you going to find someone?"

For a split second, Ruth looked dumb-struck. Then she swallowed, hard, and said, "I don't know what you mean."

"He'd say yes, Ruth."

"Jo," Ruth hissed, looking around as if someone might be listening. "Are you... are you talking about... _Harry_?"

Jo couldn't help but be amused as she watched a hot blush spread across her friend's cheeks. "Ruth. Of course I'm talking about Harry."

The blush vanished as the blood drained from Ruth's face. She looked mortified, and stared down at the table, her fingers grasping each other. "Why on Earth would I ask _Harry_ out for a drink?"

"Oh come _on_, Ruth."

Ruth's horror was complete. "Jo..."

"Ruth - it's okay. You like him. What's wrong with that?"

"I don't," Ruth broke off again, glancing around the bar as she realised that her voice had suddenly increased in volume. "I don't like him. I mean... I like him... but I don't _like_ him, like him."

"Right."

"I _don't_!" There was a pause, before defeat bloomed in Ruth's face and her shoulders sagged. "Oh god. Oh god, Jo. Please... _please _don't tell anyone."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...


	6. Chapter 6

A Distant War pt 6

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews last chapter. It really does help! Note on Tamil translation at the end for anyone interested.

* * *

Adam wiped sweat from his neck as he lifted the night-vision glasses to his eyes. Below him, the rebel camp was silent, still and dark - finally. It had taken an age for the last torch to be extinguished, and for the last muttered conversation to finish rising from the cluster of makeshift huts and ragged tents below him.

The hut he was particularly interested in lay in the western corner of the camp, surrounded by what he had determined to be dormitory tents for the troops. Of course, the word 'troops' was laughable - they were a rag-tag medley of men, women and boys, all half-starved, all dragged from their villages by threat, coersion or because their home lives were even more desperate than their circumstances here. Man for man against a real army they wouldn't stand a chance... even more of a reason that Adam's stomach turned whenever he thought about that weapons cache, just waiting to be put into use by the Sri Lankan army. It'd be a massacre, and the British government would announce that terrorism on the island had been neutralised. But the British public wouldn't see the faces of those silenced, would never understand the terrible youth of those forced to face the weapons their government had sent to facilitate their silence. Though of course, the Tigers were in no way the innocent, persecuted band of idealists that Stephen Thomas would like to believe. The concept of suicide bombing had originated in their training camps, and the terror they put into these children often began with them being forced to murder their own families to stay alive.

Adam sighed and lowered the glasses. None of that was his concern. It was just the reason he lay awake in bed at night. But that would come later. All he had to do right now was concentrate on getting the journalist out.

There were man-traps and tripwires laced around the camp's perimeter, but Adam thought he knew from his observations where they were situated - at least enough to avoid being caught out on his way into the camp. Getting out would be far trickier. Successfully controlling two pairs of feet, rather than one, in silence and darkness, would require a miracle. But he had no choice, and moreover, no time to act but now.

Stowing his night-sights, Adam slipped out of his cover and over the ridge. The ground was wet from a recent downpour, and he struggled to find purchase against the sodden earth. Breathless and silent, the MI-5 agent moved noiselessly to the base of the gully. Once out of the trees, he was grateful to the gibbous moon that hung above the camp, casting the Earth in shades of silver. Stepping over one, two, three tripwires, Adam snaked his way around the ramshackle huts and toward his destination.

The door was locked, of course. He knelt, quickly, his knees pressing into the sucking mud, and pulled out his lock-pick. Adam was about to slide the pin into the keyhole when he noticed a wire trailing from the lock barrel, and stopped dead. Careful not to make a sound, or jolt the mechanism, he traced the tiny copper wire with one finger. It led to a primitive alarm - literally, a bell tied to the hut's rotten roof. Any tampering with the lock would immediately alert the soldiers sleeping within a hundred yards, and more. Adam was begrudgingly impressed - simple, but effective, and considering what these people had to work with, more than a little resourceful.

Backing away from the door, Adam scrubbed out the damp indentations he'd made in the ground. Glancing around, he abandoned the main entrance and made a quick circuit of the hut, which was no more than 6 foot square. The wood planks that made up its walls and roofs were old and decrepit, and would splinter with little more than a kick. But that too would make too much noise. No, if he were going to get in and out with any chance of survival, he had to find another way.

One corner of the shack had sunk slightly with the recent downpour. With no foundations to support it, the earth beneath the hut was no more constant than the mulch that made up the jungle floor. It had left a gap, not large, but it was there. Adam immediately crouched, putting his fingers to the ground. It was still wet, which meant it was still maleable. He began to dig, both hands scooping out the mud as swiftly and silently as possible.

Twice he heard sounds in the night, and froze to listen lest he had been detected. Each time he shook off the growing dread that this was taking too long, that he would lose the cover of darkness, or the element of surprise. It took time, for sure - too much, really, possibly twenty minutes, possibly more, until the gap was large enough for him to squeeze beneath the shack's rickety walls. He went in head first, aware that there may be a guard inside with the prisoner - or prisoners - but once again, out of options and time.

Inside, the floor hut was pitch-black, the moon failing to illuminate the meagre space. Adam heard movement, but it was weak, no more than a dying fly scratching against glass. He pulled his pack through the gap and pulled out his night-vision glasses, using the head strap to keep his hands free.

There was only one occupant of the shack, lying on a rough bed of culled branches against one wall. Adam moved towards the prone figure, and saw its head turn towards the noise.

"Wha-" it began to say, but Adam clamped his hand over Stephen Thomas' mouth and lowered his own to the man's ear. His other hand was already reaching for the bowie knife strapped at his ankle, ready to cut the prisoner's bonds.

"Shut up," he breathed. "British Intelligence, here to get you out. Can you walk?"

He felt the man tense momentarily, before nodding slowly.

Carter's knife made short work of the ropes at his wrists and ankles. "Move. Now."

Adam was already stepping back as he felt Thomas nod again. He slipped one arm across the journalist's shoulders, using the other to grip the man's right hand and guide him across the floor. He caught the acrid smell of sickness combined with stale urine and old sweat. Adam could feel the man trembling as he moved, and wondered if it were from adrenaline or weakness. His instinct said the latter, though he prayed it was the former. They had a lot of hostile ground to cover, and doing so with a sick man would be incredibly difficult.

He went ahead of Thomas through the gap, checking his surroundings before leaning back in to guide the man out. They crouched for a moment, facing each other. Adam removed his night-sights and let them hang around his neck, holding one finger to his lips before indicating their route out of the camp. Thomas nodded, and they began to move.

Adam was relieved to see that Thomas was swifter and more sure-footed than he expected. They made it over the first trip wire and to the second, Adam pointing out each danger as they reached it.

And then disaster struck.

There was a sound, behind them, soft footsteps squelching in the ubiquitous mud. Adam froze and then crouched, forcing Thomas to mirror his movements. The moon was still high but the night was dark, and all Adam could hope was that the shadows would be enough to hide them.

He looked sideways to see the boy he'd seen earlier - the one who had been looking forward to lunch - stepping carefully out of one of the huts. He was eating something - a banana, perhaps? Adam sucked in a breath, reaching for the handgun strapped to his hip.

A hand clamped over his wrist. Thomas was staring at him, eyes wide, angry, horrified.

_He's just a kid, _the journalist mouthed frantically, _Just a child!_

Adam shook him off, feeling the bile build in his throat. The boy was no older than Wes, all awkward arms and legs, not yet grown into himself. Adam swallowed, hard, his heart sickened and fear in his gut. Could he do it? Could he shoot a child? _He may be a child, but he's a soldier, _he told himself. _He's probably taken more lives than you have. If it's him or you... If it's him or the mission..._

His hand still shook, and he forced himself steady as the boy passed within ten feet of where they crouched. Without intending to, Adam realised he had stopped breathing. Beside him, the journalist was just as silent, just as tense. But the boy kept moving, and hope bloomed in Adam's heart as he realised they may just have got away with it. The boy disappeared out of sight, behind another hut. Adam left a ten-second gap before he allowed himself to breathe out in relief. He turned to Thomas. They had to get out of there, _now. _

They made it past the last tripwire and were almost at the brush when a shout echoed out behind them. Adam turned to see the boy, staring at them. Maybe he'd gone back for another banana, or maybe, in their relief, they'd not been quite silent enough. Adam's eyes locked with the child's, and he shook his head, a silent plea for clemency, one human to another.

"Nienga!" The boy shouted again, "Idhu enna? Pudeengga!" And then, louder still, "_Pudeengga!_"

Adam turned, shoving Thomas in front of him as the camp came alive. "Go!" He shouted, "Go, go, GO!"

They ran, scrambling desperately up the incline, their only hope of escape laying in the deep foliage of the Sri Lankan jungle.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's note: For anyone interested in what the Tamil translates as in the earlier chapter and here:

Chapter 4:

Boy 1 says (I think) "I can't wait for dinner. I want chicken and rice."

Boy 2 says "Shut up/stop talking"

Chapter 6:

"You!" The boy shouted again, "What is this? Stop!" And then, louder still, "Stop!"


	7. Chapter 7

A Distant War pt 7

A/N: Thanks to everyone still reading, and for all the lovely reviews!

* * *

It was late, past ten, and the Grid was silent apart from the frequent tap of her keys. Malcolm had only just left, exhausted by his vigil, though Ruth didn't expect him to stay away long. Harry was still in his office. In the last four hours he'd left it only to refill his coffee mug, and she didn't expect him to reach home tonight. Tension wound through the air, undiminished by the late hour or the Grid's lack of activity. Ruth felt it building beneath her shoulder blades – heavy, pregnant, poisonous.

Her phone rang, the shrill tone cutting through her thoughts and making her jump. She raised the receiver to her ear. "Section D, Ruth Evershed speaking."

_"Hello, pretty lady."_

She almost laughed, the unexpected cheekiness of the words a cutting juxtaposition to her suffocating anxiety. "Zaf?"

_"What are you doing working so late?"_

"What are _you_ doing ignoring protocol?" She countered, "You made your scheduled check in earlier."

_"I know,"_ he sighed, _"I know."_

She grabbed a notepad and picked up her pen. "Are you alright? Is there something you need to report? Something you need me to work on?"

_"No. No - nothing. Everything here is as quiet as the proverbial grave."_

"Then what-"

_"I was just wondering about Adam,"_ Zaf said. _"Have you heard anything? He should be on his way out now, right?"_

Ruth shut her eyes as her heart skipped a beat. A second stretched into oblivion until she pulled herself back to the present. She knew what was required of her. No sense in worrying an agent active in the field. Zaf needed to remain focused, even if it was beginning to look as if his own operation would amount to nothing.

She cleared her throat, and lied through her teeth. "He's fine - everything's fine. Made his latest check in with no problems."

_"He's got the journalist?"_

Ruth shut her eyes again, and rubbed her free hand over her tense shoulder muscles. She could imagine him, pacing around in his dank bedsit, isolated from the team, worrying about his friend. Guilt threatened to overwhelm her, but what else could she do? Ruth opened her eyes to see Harry crossing the floor toward her.

"Zaf, I can't discuss this, not over a unsecure line."

_"Don't worry. This is a new sim - I just bought it off the shelf, and I'll destroy it afterwards."_

"Even so..."

Zaf sighed. _"Okay, okay. But he's fine?"_

Harry reached her desk, resting his knuckles on the edge as he leaned over her. Ruth looked up, into his uncompromising gaze.

"He's fine," she said, willing Harry not to look away, willing him to stay with her as she committed this monumental betrayal of friendship. "Adam's fine."

On the other end of the line, she heard Zaf's exhalation of relief. _"Great. Thanks, Ruth. Don't tell Harry I called, will you?"_

Ruth broke Harry's stare and rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Night, Zaf."

She put the receiver down.

"Is he alright?"

She nodded.

"You did the right thing," Harry told her. "It won't do him - or the operation - any good to know that Adam is over his agreed contact time."

"I know."

"For all we know, Adam could be fine. Maybe the transceiver has stopped working. Or maybe he's had to change his plans. We shouldn't assume the worst yet."

She nodded again, with nothing to say.

"You should go home, Ruth, " Harry told her. "Try to get some rest. I can give you a lift-"

Ruth stood, unwilling to accept Harry's generous offer. It would only lead to a series of awkward silences, punctuated by their attempts not to think about what horrors Adam could be dealing with out there, without them. And after her horrifyingly embarrassing discussion with Jo, Ruth had realised that her emotional turmoil where Harry was concerned was far more transparent than she had naively believed. Keeping her distance was the obvious answer.

"Thanks, but I'll get the bus."

Harry frowned. "Are you sure? It's no trouble."

"Really," Ruth said, picking up her coat and bag as her screen blinked off. "Thanks, Harry, but the fresh air will do me good."

He nodded, hands in his pockets as he turned away. "See you in the morning, then."

Ruth watched Harry return to his desk as the pod turned around her, the dark red of his office decor casting shadows on his weary face.

* * *

The hide was inadequate, but had so far kept them alive. The two men had thundered through the jungle as fast as humanly possible, Adam keeping behind Stephen Thomas as the Tigers rapidly closed the ground between them. Their only advantage had been, ironically, the element of surprise. They'd been over the edge of the gully and deep into the undergrowth before the boy had had time to explain what he'd seen, or what his compatriots were chasing. It was a slim head-start, but it was something.

At the break of day, Adam realised, their advantage would be obliterated. The men hunting them knew the terrain better than they did, and in daylight (however muted it would be beneath the jungle canopy) they would be easy targets. The MI-5 agent had to admit - reluctantly - that he could have had worse charges to protect. Thomas had barely said a word since his release, and seemed to understand that his continued survival relied on following Adam's orders to the letter. So when Adam had abruptly stopped running, jumped into a shallow dip left by a long-decayed tree-trunk, and began to dig, Thomas had followed his example without hesitation or comment. They'd widened the enclosure and pulled in wide-leafed branches above them, lying still just seconds before their pursuers careened past their hiding place.

Hours later when the shadows were lengthening once again, Adam had looked at his watch. They'd stayed in one place too long to keep his tight schedule intact, and beyond that he also noted that he'd missed his latest check-in with Thames House. The hours set between first and last possible transmission had been wide, but he'd still failed to make the communication, which meant as of now, Section D knew something was wrong. The last thing he wanted was for this to be conveyed to the SAS team who would even now be on the last leg of their journey from Afghanistan to Sri Lanka - if Section D told them there was a potential problem, they may withdraw their support and cancel the extraction team. The SAS were always in demand - there would be plenty of other operations demanding their attention. He had faith in Harry... but Harry Pearce had no jurisdiction over the military...

He squirmed around in the tight space, reaching for his pack, and pulled out his small transmitter.

"Shit!"

Dismayed, Adam stared at the shattered object in his hand. The transmitter must have taken a blow as they'd crashed through the undergrowth. It hung, limp and lifeless, wires exposed. Without it, he could neither inform Thames House of his situation or transmit the callsign to the SAS team.

Stephen Thomas blinked in the semi-darkness. "That doesn't look good."

"It's not."

Thomas nodded. "Where have we got to get to?"

"Mullativu."

The journalist raised an eyebrow: they were a long way off their target. "When for?" He asked.

Adam looked at his watch again. "We've got 18 hours now. Seventeen, to be on the safe side."

Thomas nodded. "Okay. And if we don't make that deadline?"

"No extraction team."

Thomas nodded again. "Right. We'd better be off then, hadn't we?"

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Chapter 8

A Distant War pt 8

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated for the last few days. Was sick and then had two days' work... I hope there's someone out there who still cares about this story!

Oh, and as a total aside, I watched 4.09 with my fiance last night, who, on hearing that Harry's dog's name is Scarlett, remarked that her name was probably a reference for Sir John Scarlett, head of the JIC and MI-6 from 2001-2009. I'd like to think he's right!

* * *

Zaf stubbed his cigarette out as Aamil appeared from the shop's loading bay and walked toward him. Zaf's first meeting with the Islamic group he was supposed to be infiltrating was set for that night. The MI-5 agent wasn't nervous, as such - he'd been in this position plenty of times before – but even so, something wasn't sitting well with him. The past week had been quiet. Too quiet, both for Zaf and for Aamil. His asset, who had proved himself to be calm and level headed, had remarked that every meeting he had attended in the past few days had been muted, subdued. It was making them both nervous. Either something of deeper significance was afoot, or the group had lost their way and were on the verge of splintering.

Zaf was torn between hoping that was the case - since the group's disintegration would surely mean that this particular threat had passed - and frustration. For a week he'd been doing no more than weighing vegetables and helping old ladies pack their bags, while somewhere out there in the world, Adam was pushing his way through a deadly jungle, friendless, alone, and in immediate danger. Zaf felt useless, isolated and out of the loop. His brief late-night chat with Ruth the previous evening had at least put his mind at rest, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to be there, even if 'there' was just at Thames House, rather than here in Luton, waiting to diffuse a threat that seemed to be doing a good job of canceling itself out on its own.

Aamil pulled out a pack of tobacco and began rolling himself a smoke. "Alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine. You?"

"No worries." The asset stuck his roll-up between his lips and looked up at Zaf from beneath heavy brows. "You sure you're still on for tonight?"

"Of course. You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

Aamil sniffed in mild derision. "It's not me you need to worry about. What's going on with you? You've been distracted all day. Pull it together, yeah, man? You might get to get out of here once this is done, but this is my turf, yeah?"

Zaf nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"You'd better be." Aamil twitched his chin in the direction of the store. "You'd better get back, or the boss'll be pissed, innit."

"Right." He stepped away, before turning on his heel. "Look, everything's going to be fine, alright? Just chill out, and it'll be over and done before you know it."

Aamil nodded. "Sure, bro. Just make sure you've got my back, yeah?"

Zaf flashed a smile, which he knew displayed more confidence than he felt. "Always."

* * *

The briefing room was frighteningly empty. Harry sat at the head of the long conference table, Jo to his left, Ruth to his right. Malcolm had asked to be excused - he wanted to stay at his screen in case Adam miraculously made contact. Colin was running yet another diagnostic on the relay transmitter, trying to work out whether or not it was functioning correctly. In some ways, albeit privately, Harry hoped that it wasn't. At least that would provide an alternative reason for Adam's silence - one that did not involve him lying somewhere in a foreign jungle, incapacitated and impossibly beyond their reach.

"All right," he said with a sigh. "The situation is this. The SAS have continued to the rendezvous point regardless of Adam's radio silence."

Ruth nodded wearily, looking at her watch. "Harry..."

He nodded soberly. "I know... I know. The deadline passed two hours ago." He sighed. "Adam did not make the rendezvous. The SAS team could not wait and are now on their way back to the UK... without him or the journalist."

Jo rubbed a hand over her eyes. Harry saw the naked anxiety in her features, in the dark circles beneath her usually bright eyes. "So what's plan B?" She asked. "How do we get him out without the SAS extraction team?"

Harry glanced at Ruth, who met his eyes and then looked down at the table. "There's not much we can do, Jo. Our security services are operating in Sri Lanka without a UN mandate..."

Jo looked aghast. "So what does that mean? We just leave him there?"

"No, of course not," Ruth told her gently. "It just means that things become more difficult."

"I've already made enquiries about the next window the SAS may have open," Harry added. "But ultimately, it's largely down to Adam himself. He has to make contact. He has to let us know where he is, what the situation is, and when he can make another extraction attempt. Or he has to make it to friendly territory and use his own assets in the country to escape."

Jo shook her head, "And what if he can't do that? What if he's hurt - what if he's been captured? What then?"

"Jo, we have no reason to believe that-"

"Yes, we do!" Her voice rose, anger suffusing her words and face, "What else is his silence saying, if not that? We need to send someone to get him out, _now_!"

Harry ignored the tone of the young officer's voice and forged on. "Jo, Adam Carter is an experienced field agent - the most experienced Section D has. We have to trust in his capabilities. We can't drag the British government into-"

Jo stood, incensed. "They dragged themselves into it - this is MI-6's fault, and Adam's having to deal with the fall-out. _You_ let him go out there, and now you're saying we're just going to leave him there, in a hostile region, with no back up, no help of any kind. How can you do that, Harry? How can you-"

"Jo," Ruth said, "Please. It's not Harry's choice. And he's not saying we do nothing. Calm down."

"I can't! How can you just sit there and do _nothing_?"

"Because there's nothing else I can do at the moment. Because we use this time to prepare for when we _can_ do something. We make sure we're ready."

"That's not good enough."

"It's all we have right now."

Jo shook her head. "That's rubbish. There must be something we can do, Ruth. There must be. You just don't care enough."

"Jo," cautioned Harry, thinking it time to reign in her anger. He understood how difficult this was for any junior officer so relatively new to the craft. He'd always been willing to allow lee-way, but her outburst was cutting dangerously close to insubordination. "I think perhaps we should all take a break..."

"Oh, sure. Let's just tell Adam to do the same, shall we? He can just wait a bit while we have a breather."

"Jo," said Ruth, keeping her level, "you know that's not fair."

"It's true though, isn't it? What if it was someone else out there? What if it was you? Or - or... What if it was _Harry_, Ruth? What then?"

Surprised, Harry glanced at Ruth and saw the blood drain from her face as the two women stared at each other across the table. The sudden silence that enveloped them was cacophonous, and in it, Jo's anger subsided as quickly as it had risen. She rubbed a hand over her face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm... sorry. I didn't meant to get so angry. I just – there has to be _something_ we can do."

Harry closed the file in front of him and stood to leave, offering Jo a small smile. "There will be, Jo. There will be. I just have to work out what."

* * *

"Ruth, I'm sorry." Jo followed her across the Grid as Ruth returned to her desk, files clutched to her chest as if they could protect her from further embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to - I was just so upset..."

She sat down and pulled in her chair, avoiding Jo's gaze. "It's fine."

"It's not fine."

"It is. Really. I just - need to get on with some work now, so..."

"Have you lost people before?"

Ruth laughed shortly, a blunt and mirthless sound. "Plenty, Jo. Plenty. Too many."

"I meant - on a mission. Overseas. Have you ever lost a colleague during a mission overseas and not known whether they're alive or dead?"

The analyst sighed, finally looking up at the troubled young woman still looming over her desk. "Not... not for a prolonged period of time. Harry has, though."

"Harry?"

Ruth nodded. "One of Harry's best agents, operating in Russia. Lucas North. He went missing four years ago. They still don't know if he's alive or dead. Every now and then, there's a rumour... an asset mentions hearing the name. It's possible he's in a prison somewhere over there." She shrugged. "On the other hand, maybe he died the night he first failed to make contact. We have no way of knowing."

Jo stared at Ruth, her pale face gaunt with worry. "Four _years_?"

Ruth looked away. "Harry doesn't talk about it much... but I think they were friends. And I think, in his darker moments, he feels responsible."

The junior officer shut her eyes. "I should go and talk to him... Apologise..."

"Maybe you should," Ruth said shortly. She softened almost immediately when she saw Jo's stricken face. "But you don't need to. Don't worry, Jo. It takes a lot to get through Harry Pearce's thick skin. If he hadn't thought you needed to vent, he wouldn't have let you get that far. Just... try to leave me out of it next time?"

Jo sank against the desk, "Ruth. Really, I'm so sorry."

Ruth shook her head, dismissing the apology. "He probably didn't even notice," she said, trying to convince herself as much as anyone. "He's got far bigger things to worry about, after all."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	9. Chapter 9

A Distant War pt 9

* * *

Youths For A United Islam UK met in the home of one of it's founders, a tall, gruff man named Mihran Ghanzi. As far as Zaf could see, Ghanzi's main pleasure in life was the sound of his own voice - he was clearly a devout man, but painfully pompous. He had welcomed Zaf into his home, shown him, alongside the other devotees, all manner of hospitality, and then proceeded to lecture them all on elements of the Koran. Zaf had listened carefully, head bowed, but not one word of Ghanzi's speech lent itself to an interpretation of violence and hate. It dwelled, instead, on the true spirit of Islam; the peaceful tenets of charity and harmony that the fundamentalist factions completely failed to acknowledge or adhere to.

Half way through the Ghanzi's delivery, Zaf glanced around the room and noted the bored looks on some of the younger members of the assembly. None of them, however, looked as if they were concealing seditious thoughts against the British state - not that that meant a thing, of course, and Aamil had already warned him that he thought support for the extremists was waning. But it made Zaf wonder again if his time was being wasted. It was possible that simple boredom had driven over-active teenaged minds to imagine and discuss scenarios they had no intention - or means of - executing. Unpleasant and reprehensible, yes. Threatening, less so.

The meeting at last drew to a close. He bid goodnight to his new acquaintances, chatting briefly to Aamil before turning in the direction of his flat. He'd walked about a fifty yards when he became aware of a tail - someone following at a discreet distance. Not slowing his pace, Zaf went into surveillance mode. At the next street he turned left where he should have turned right, and embarked on a different route, leading his follower away from his home. Whoever it was was in no hurry to catch him. The footsteps continued at the same pace, until Zaf, perfectly on his guard, reached a street-corner and stopped at the window of the electrical shop there.

He expected his tail either to attack or to continue past, but instead, the man drew to a stop beside Zaf and stepped into the shallow light cast by the window display.

"You were as bored as I was in there, weren't you?"

The man was in his late 30s, his full beard speaking of his devotion. Zaf had seen him at the meeting, but nothing in his demeanor had drawn the eye. He had seemed entirely focused on Ghanzi's sermon. Zaf's heart rate ticked up a notch, but he controlled it and offered a brief, sardonic smile.

"He's a bit dry."

His new companion laughed bitterly. "Dry. That's one word for it. Impotent, outdated and a betrayal of the prophet, those are others." He nodded down the street. "I'm on my way to another meeting. A far more interesting one, if you get my meaning. Join me."

Zaf looked around, filtering a guarded look onto his face. "What? You the old Bill or something?"

"Sorry?"

"Too right you're sorry. People like you, approaching people like me in the street. Security services, are you? You won't catch me that easily. I've done nothing wrong. Go entrap someone else."

The man's eyes narrowed for a second, and then he smiled with genuine amusement. He nodded.

"What are you grinning at?" Zaf persisted, looking back up the street again. "I'm not laughing," he added, turning his back and walking away.

"See you around, brother," his companion called after him.

Zaf didn't look back around. "Not if I see you first."

* * *

The heavy rain had started just after midday, and did not let up. The jungle turned into a circle of hell unimagined by Dante, a sucking whirlpool of unnavigable mud and blinding, heavy mist. Adam peered over the top of the ridge on which he and Thomas had tried to find respite. Over the roar of the rain it was impossible to hear anything human, and his exhausted eyes could hardly distinguish between the torrent and the trees.

He sank back into the poor shelter they had found and wiped a hand across his face. Thomas sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, his crossed arms resting across them.

"We've missed the extraction deadline," the journalist stated, matter-of-factly.

Adam nodded. "Yeah."

"Do we have an alternative?"

"Not unless you've got a fold-out Chinook in that manbag of yours."

Thomas puffed out a weak breath in an imitation of a laugh. Adam had noticed him struggling quietly for the last few hours. The journalist hadn't complained of discomfort once, despite the harsh pace they'd kept in trying to make the rendezvous.

"What did they do to you in there?" he asked.

The journalist paused before answering. "Oh, just the usual. A beating here and there."

Adam nodded. "Broken ribs?"

"I think so. One or two."

They drifted back into silence as the rain beat its way into their thoughts. It was incessant, a drum, the timbre of which echoed cruelly in a tired man's mind.

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" Adam asked at last.

"I could ask you the same question," Thomas countered. "It's the weapons, right? They wouldn't send a field agent as good as you just to save an errant journalist."

Adam didn't answer, but he saw from his companion's knowing nod that he didn't have to. He was surprised when Thomas spoke again.

"You saw them in that camp. They're just children. Brutalised, terrified, lost children."

"Not all of them."

"No, but a lot of them. And do you think, when they're finally put down, that the Sri Lankan army is going to discriminate?" Thomas shook his head. "They'll mow them all down. Just like you were willing to, back there."

Adam flinched, slightly. The snapshot of that boy, standing so still in the moonlight with his precious banana, had not left his thoughts. During his few snatched moments of sleep, the Tamil kid's face had been replaced by Wes's, and there had been no one to stop his hand drawing his gun.

"It would have been a last resort," he said, the words sticking against his palate.

Thomas shook his head. "Jesus, man. Out here there is nothing _but_ last resort."

The rain began to lessen, finally, still falling but noticeably slower. Adam shut his eyes, praying for a miracle.

"When the end comes here, in Sri Lanka," Thomas spoke again, "it won't just be the children that are mown down. There are local people still living here. Non-combatants too poor to leave. Where would they go? The southerners won't take them. They've got their own problems. But as far as the government is concerned, they're here, so they are the enemy. They're going to get caught in the crossfire. Fire made possible by _your _weapons plot."

Adam opened his eyes. "I'm not here to talk politics. I'm here to get you out."

Thomas leaned his head back, staring up into the lessening rain. "Pretending you're just doing a job doesn't make you any less culpable. In conscience, if not in law." He sighed, heavily, before changing the subject. "Anyway, I can't see any way of us getting out of here. There'll be alerts for us everywhere."

"We'll just have to keep moving south. And when this rain stops, or we can find somewhere with enough shelter, I need to try fixing this transceiver. If I can get word out..."

Thomas watched him carefully. "You think they'll send another extraction team."

Adam shrugged. "If they can. We don't leave our people behind."

The journalist snorted in derision. "That's American bullshit, and you know it. You're every one of you as expendable as a biro and they'll leave you here at the drop of a hat."

Adam smiled thinly. "No pulling the wool over your eyes, is there?"

Thomas sniffed, wiping the last vestiges of the dwindling downpour from his eyes. "One of the benefits of the BBC war correspondent circuit, I'm afraid. We that survive are smart buggers."

* * *

It was early when Harry arrived, even earlier than usual. He'd not been able to sleep, too preoccupied by thoughts of Adam, lost somewhere in the midst of a distant war. It had been two days since the deadline passed, but he wouldn't give up hope. Harry never did, however bleak the outlook. He stepped through the pods, noting briefly that he'd managed to beat Ruth onto the Grid for once, and shrugged off his coat as he opened his office door.

He'd picked up the new files on his desk and was about to sit down when he realised something was amiss. He looked to see a shape huddled on his office couch, partially illuminated by the Grid's night-lighting. With a frown, Harry stepped nearer, stopping abruptly when he realised what it was.

Ruth Evershed was curled awkwardly among the meagre cushions, fast asleep. She'd removed her boots, which stood neatly side by side at the end of the sofa. Her knees were held to her chest by one arm, expansive skirt covering all but her toes, and one hand was pillowed under her cheek.

Harry stared blankly, completely unprepared and somewhat disarmed. Backing out of the room as quietly as possible, he shut the door softly. The section head turned around, unsure, for a moment, what to do next. He headed for Malcolm's desk.

"Malcolm," he said, "Ruth is asleep in my office."

"Ah," said Malcolm, looking up. "Sorry, yes. I meant to warn you. You're early."

"What's she doing in there?"

"Well, when she found out I was staying nights in case Adam made contact, she insisted on staying with me. This is the third night in a row, and I found her asleep at her desk. I can nap, you see, but she finds it difficult. She's exhausted, but she won't go home, she's so worried. So I told her to use your couch for a few hours before you came in. I… knew you wouldn't mind."

"Malcolm," Harry began, covering his curiously unsettled thoughts with bluster, "are you accusing me of getting soft in my old age?"

Malcolm smiled, eyes fixed on his screen. "Not generally, no. Just specifically."

There was a pause as Harry fathomed his meaning. "I think," he muttered darkly, "that you and I have worked together far too long."

"I can wake her, if you like. If you... would rather not."

"No, let her sleep." Harry moved away before stopping again and half turning. "Do you think she's warm enough?" He indicated his coat, still slung over one arm. "I could - my coat…" Clearing his throat, he gave up. "Never mind. I'll be working in the briefing room if anyone needs me. It looks like Zaf's made an unscheduled report..."

Malcolm was still smiling as Harry shut the briefing room door behind him.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	10. Chapter 10

A Distant War pt 10

Thank you for the reviews, especially from the former lurkers! I'm suffering a crisis of confidence at the moment, so they really do help.

* * *

Zaf's ploy with his would-be recruiter paid off, as did his gentle introduction into Mihran Ghanzi's group. Once he'd attended two or three times, the old man began to slip in mentions of Wooton Bassett - still nothing violent or seditious, but nonetheless gently inflammatory. Ghanzi had the definite intention of disrupting a repatriation, though as far as Zaf could tell, his plans did not involve anything beyond a few home-made placards and some distasteful chanting. Zaf instead kept most of his attentions on the man who had approached him in the street. Aamil had identified him as Qasid Kunar, and Ruth had supplied the information that Kunar had landed himself on a low-level watchlist for travelling to Afghanistan in 2003 and returning via Pakistan eight months later. There had been nothing else to indicate extremist leanings - until now.

Four meetings later, Kunar once again invited Zaf to the secondary group. Harry had advised Zaf to refuse a second time, and then to actively be seen making enquiries into Kunar's spiritual character. This would position him as a cautious (and therefore reliable) possible recruit. Coupled with the legend that Aamil had already planted prior to Zaf's introduction - his background of devotion and his former studies in Pakistan - Harry was sure that Kunar would renew his overtures soon enough.

Kunar had indeed done so, and Zaf had found himself introduced to the home of a founder of a very different group. One in which its members had no compunction about expressing their hatred of the British state.

Zaf was perversely relieved to discover that his time in Luton had not been wasted. Listening to the claptrap spouted by Kunar and his associates turned his stomach. They were indeed planning something on the back of Ghanzi's Wootton Bassett outing, though the MI-5 agent had yet to discover exactly what.

Meanwhile, his thoughts turned continually to Adam. His own direct contact with Thames House had ceased the moment he made contact with Kunar's cell. His reports - less regular now, unless he had urgent updates - were delivered by audio chip via a variety of drops around Luton. If Five had information for him, he'd know because the woman across the road from his bedsit would be drying a tartan tea towel on her tenement balcony. If it was folded and hanging on a drying rack, it meant there was something for him at the cafe drop. If it was pegged to the line hanging above, the drop was the benefits office on the corner. Either way, it meant he'd had no opportunity to find out if Adam was back yet - which he should be by now. If he wasn't, it meant something had gone wrong. Zaf tried not to dwell on that possibility.

He endured an intense week of extremist meetings before he turned up anything concrete for Five to use... And when he did, the game abruptly turned itself inside out.

* * *

"So, how does it feel to be Section Chief again?"

Harry looked up from the file he'd been reading to see Ruth standing just inside his door. She took his smile as an invitation, and approached his desk. "Section Chief?"

"You've been taking a much more hands-on approach since Adam's departure."

"I suppose I have." He smiled again. "It's a way of keeping busy. Until-"

He didn't add the words "until there's news". The wait to hear from Adam had become a permanent pain that seared all of them. Jo was gamely trying to put her training into practice and do her job, but still she moved around the office like a ghost, her face pale and her eyes ringed red with worry. Malcolm rarely left his screen in case Adam unexpectedly made contact, unwilling to let anyone else take a shift to ease his vigil. Colin had concocted a prototype for a new type of mini-transceiver which would revolutionise long-distance missions in future, yet seemed to be torturing himself over not creating it sooner. And Ruth... Ruth was sleeping on his office couch and showering in the Thames House gym. Not that she knew he knew.

Harry had tried not to let that image of her, delicate in repose, fasten itself to his memory. He hadn't succeeded.

"Has there been any progress with Six?" She asked, oblivious to his guilty internal meanderings. "Anything from their assets on the ground?"

"No more this morning, no," Harry said with a sigh. "They say they've sent a team in, but you and I know Six well enough to know that if they locate Adam, it'll be incidental. They're still looking for that weapons cache."

"i suppose it's better than nothing. And SAS are still on standby... That's something, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, we have that at least. I just wish..." he tailed off with a sigh, before answering her quizzical look with a wave of his fingers. "I wish I was younger, Ruth. I wish I was out there, looking for him, not in here, trying to persuade others to do it. But I'm not, and I can't, so let's just get on with it, shall we?"

She nodded, taking his cue to change the subject. "We've had a request from Zaf. He wants a micro-camera."

Harry frowned, "A micro-camera? Really?"

Ruth nodded. "It was a brief message, hurriedly delivered. He doesn't explain why, other than to say he's made progress."

"Well, let's get it to him."

"I have a suggestion... if you don't mind?"

He smiled, and then thought that perhaps he should consider smiling at her less. In general. "What is it?"

"Send Jo to make the drop. Zaf will be wondering about Adam. Jo's almost out of her mind with worry, about both of them. She needs to feel useful. Physically useful, I mean." She offered him a half-smile. "You know how that is."

"It's risky, Ruth. Too risky."

Ruth shook her head. "They don't even have to speak. I just think - I just think it will help. To see each other. Just for a moment. Zaf's friendless out there, and Jo's imagination is running riot. If it were-" She stopped, abruptly, and looked away. "I just think it would help."

Harry nodded, schooling his face to reject another smile. "Very well. Use the cafe. But make sure Jo says nothing, Ruth. _Nothing._ Understand?"

Ruth's face lit up. "Of course, Harry. Thank you. I'll just - I'll go now, and set it up..."

It was several moments after the door shut behind her that Harry realised he was still staring at the space she had occupied. He shook himself, rubbing one hand over his eyes. "Get a grip," he muttered under his breath. "Get a _bloody_ grip."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	11. Chapter 11

A Distant War pt 11

A/N: Two parts today... trying to speed it up a bit.

* * *

"Have you got a family? Kids?"

They were sheltering in an abandoned tin shack on the outskirts of Amutankulam. It was half-destroyed, the roof meeting the ground in a huddle of rubble that constituted it's ruined south wall, but it was at least dry. They'd been dodging rebel patrols and hiding in wet undergrowth so long that it felt like a luxury.

Stephen Thomas blinked at Adam's question, before shaking his head. "No. Had a long-term girlfriend until last year. She wanted to get married, have kids, the whole thing... but I never thought kids were a good idea. Not for me, anyway, not in this line of work. It would have been selfish." He sighed, picking up a stone and bouncing it in his palm. "The end came pretty swiftly after that conversation."

Adam nodded. "My wife and I... We wondered about that, too. Whether it was selfish to have a child."

"She's a spy too?"

Adam concentrated on the wiring of the transmitter. If he could just get the green wire to connect... "She was. She... was killed."

There was a brief silence as Thomas took this in. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged away the sharp pain that briefly shot across his ribcage. "Thanks."

"So did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Have a kid. Despite your doubts."

"Yeah, we did. Wes. Wouldn't send him back for anything." The green wire would not connect. Adam clenched his fingers tighter, trying to force it. "I've just missed his first rugby match for his new school."

Thomas hurled the stone he'd been toying with. It bounced between the rubble and the tin, out into another downpour. "It's a crazy world, isn't it?"

Adam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." He gave up on the transmitter. "I can't fix this. It's just fried. I don't have the tools, or the expertise."

The journalist watched him for a moment. "You know that if I go back with you, they're going to force me to tell them where the cache is, don't you?"

The MI-5 agent rubbed a hand over his grime-streaked face. "I imagine that question will be included in the debrief, yes."

"And you know what happens if I tell them."

"They get their weapons back."

Thomas shook his head. "Don't fake stupidity, Adam, it's disingenuous of you."

Adam sighed. "Look. I can't get into this. You know I can't. I'm here to get you out. It's proven to be a bit more difficult than we anticipated, but that's still the operation. Don't start lecturing me on morality-"

"It's not about morality, it's about conscience."

"Aren't they they same thing?"

"Not at all. One is unselfish, the other selfish. If you do this, you're going to feel bad. You're going to look at Wes, and think about all those children those weapons will kill because you let the Sri Lankan government get their hands on them. I'm suggesting an alternative. I'm appealing to your selfish gene. Sometimes it's as useful as an unselfish one."

Adam shook his head with mild amusement. "I can tell you're a bloody hack."

Thomas shrugged with a reckless grin. "Now there's a compliment if ever I heard one."

Adam dropped the broken device and reached for his pack, pulling out the final two high-energy bars they'd retrieved from his last food cache. He threw one to his companion. "Make it last," he warned. "After this we'll be killing chickens."

Thomas opened the packet took a bite. "So you don't think you can fix the transmitter?"

"I know I can't," Adam said around a mouthful of food. "And don't go asking me what happens next, because I haven't worked that out yet."

Thomas stared out at the rain. "Actually, I was going to say that I think I might know someone who could help."

Adam stopped chewing. "What?"

The journalist sighed. "He's an engineer, but I have a feeling he'll know a bit about electronics, too. He lives south of here, near Nedunkeni."

"And you didn't think it was worth mentioning that you have a contact so close because..?"

"Because he has a family, and because I don't want to put him in harm's way." He looked at Adam seriously. "If they get caught helping us, they're dead. Simple as that."

Adam nodded. "You know what you were saying about last resorts?"

Thomas sighed. "I know. I _know_."

* * *

He'd tried to quell the anxiety that had grown in his gut ever since he'd seen the documents, without much success. Zaf had sent a communique to Thames House as soon as he'd been able, and now could do nothing but wait until they replied to his request. Shots taken by micro-camera was the quickest and easiest way of letting them know what was going on given the quantity of material he'd seen, he knew that, but every second that he couldn't act was increasing his apprehension. The security services would have to move fast, or that bad publicity they'd wanted to avoid at Wootton Bassett would turn into something far worse.

Zaf paced the night away, praying that when he looked out of his window the next morning, there would be a signal.

There was nothing at 6am.

There was nothing at 7am.

There was nothing at 8am.

At 8.35am, the woman opposite slung a half-folded tea towel on her drying rack, and Zaf sighed in relief. By 8.40 he was out of the flat and running down the stairs as he pulled on his jacket. By 8.45 he was approaching the cafe. It was a standard greasy spoon, popular with cargo truckers picking up loads from Luton airport, and invariably busy. Right now - breakfast - was it's peak time, and he noted that all the tables were full as he pushed open the fugged glass door. He glanced around, dark eyes sweeping over the blonde head of the girl sat in a corner seat, a table to herself. She was reading a tabloid paper, evidently engrossed, nursing a half-empty mug of tea as if it could last her another hour. Zaf headed for the counter and ordered his standard breakfast - no sausage, no bacon - and then turned around, searching for somewhere to sit.

The girl swigged the last of her tea and stood, folding the paper and discarding it on the table as she prepared to leave. Their eyes met for a second.

"Cheers," he said, as she vacated the spot.

"No problem," she answered, turning her back and heading for the door. In another second she'd vanished down the street.

Zaf flicked through the paper as he waited for his breakfast, careful to pocket the tiny package deftly secreted inside. He didn't allow himself to smile until he was safely looking at the football scores.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	12. Chapter 12

A Distant War pt 12

* * *

"Ah - Jo," said Harry as he came through the pods and saw the young woman working at her desk. "I haven't had a chance to talk to you in person since you got back from Luton yesterday. How was it?" He'd been in meetings all afternoon when she returned, trying to find some way of garnering official help for Adam. He was exhausted by the impenetrable wall of red tape and political insouciance.

Jo smiled, her pretty face far happier than he'd seen it in days. "Good - great, actually."

"Zaf looked well?"

"Very well, yes - although I'm not sure I like the new beard," she pulled a face, "but I suppose it's part of the cover."

Harry smiled, pleased to see her so much herself again. "I'm glad. It set your mind at rest?"

"A little. At least I know one of them is safe. Thank you, Harry. I know you didn't need to send me."

"Don't thank me," he told her, nodding toward where Ruth sat at desk. "It was Ruth's idea." He smiled as he saw the frown of concentration on the analyst's face as she leaned over a microdot reader. "I should know by now that she's always right, shouldn't I?"

Looking back at Jo, he saw a curious expression pass over her face, as if she'd almost said something but had changed her mind at the last minute. "Something the matter?"

"No," Jo said, a little too quickly. "No - nothing."

He nodded and was about to head for his office when Ruth stood up, abruptly.

"Harry!" She called, with alarming urgency. "You need to see this. You need - Zaf's photographs - you need to see Zaf's photographs."

"They're here already?"

Ruth was already heading for the briefing room. "He dropped them at the cafe this morning with an urgent marker. When you see them you'll know why." She looked back over her shoulder. "We're going to need Malcolm and Colin, too."

* * *

"What in devil's name is that?" Harry stared at the image Ruth had projected onto the conference room wall. It looked like a sketch from Da Vinci's notebook.

"Well, I'm no expert," she said, "but to me it looks like some kind of chemical delivery system."

"It is," Malcolm confirmed. "I've seen this sort of thing before, though on a far larger scale. The Soviets developed the tech during the Cold War. They tested it in... Afghanistan, I believe."

Harry frowned. "Specifics, please. What sort of chemical?"

"Gas." Malcolm cleared his throat. "Nerve agent, to be precise. I think this is from their pre-Novichok era. They played around with a few different variants before coming up with one undetectable to NATO forces." He nodded at the pictures again. "This would have been used for a basic, but lethal concoction. The three chambers each held a different chemical. Methyldichloroarsine to cause blistering. Cyclosarine to disrupt the nerve function. Diphosgene to cause a delayed myocardial infarction. Individually, very nasty indeed. Together, utterly horrific."

"And we're saying that this cell in Luton has the plans to build a delivery device like this."

"Worse than that," Ruth said, scrolling through several more images and stopping at a page of chemical diagrams. "Not just the device. The chemicals to go in it."

"That delivery system you showed us had been adapted," Colin noted. "Scale models. They're planning a personal, easy-to-carry version."

There was a brief silence around the table as horror permeated the room.

"This is the attack they're planning in Wootton Bassett?" Harry asked quietly. "Surely not. This is far too sophisticated."

Ruth nodded. "Zaf thinks so too. He sent a recording with the images. This information wasn't disclosed to him, he uncovered it. He thinks they _are_ planning an attack at Wootton Bassett, but only as a diversion. The chatter we found before we put Zaf on this was leaked deliberately. This is the real plan."

"But where?" Jo asked.

"It has to be London." Malcolm suggested quietly. "This is too big for anything else. They have to be planning to release a nerve agent in the capital."

"Well," said Jo, "We know where they are. We can just go and pick them up. Can't we? Arrest the cell before they have a chance to execute their plan."

Harry looked at Ruth. "What else did Zaf say? About how advanced he thinks their plans are? When they're going to attack?"

Ruth shook her head. "Nothing else yet."

"Then we can't act until we have a clearer picture of what's going on. We need to know how big this cell is. Is this the only one? It it working with a larger framework to make this possible?" Harry pinched a thumb and forefinger to his nose. "We can't risk allowing part of this monster to escape by rushing in too swiftly. They'd just regroup and attack anyway."

"They must have a chemical expert, at least," Ruth added. "This isn't something an amateur could even hope to approximate. And most of the required chemical components require registration to buy."

Harry nodded. "Very well. Ruth, start looking into chemical purchases that match what Zaf's sent. Jo, I think it's time to put a full surveillance team on Kunar. I want you to take charge. Think you're up to it?"

Jo disguised her surprise and nodded. "Of course."

"All right." Harry sighed. "I know we're stretched thin and we're all worried about Adam. But I don't need to tell you that this operation has now become our top priority. Adam would expect that. And when - _when_ - he returns, I don't want it to be in the aftermath of an attack on his home city. Understood?"

* * *

Juliet flicked through the interim report as Harry paced up and down. She glanced at the carpet of his office. It was clear to see it had become a habit in his more anxious moments. Skimming the last paragraph, she shut the file and placed it on his desk.

"This isn't just outrageous fantasy?"

Harry stopped pacing and looked at her. "What difference does it make if it is?"

She nodded. "None at all, of course."

Harry rubbed a hand over his face. "Dammit, Juliet, I need Adam for this."

Juliet crossed her arms. "I believe that were you having a better day, you would tell me that the rest of the team are perfectly capable."

He curled his lip, anger permeating his face. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

She sighed. "What else do you want me to say, Harry? One of us has to keep a level head. Adam Carter is valuable, but he's not indispensible. None of us are. You know that as well as I do."

Harry laughed harshly. "Better, Juliet. I know it better. And believe me, that knowledge plagues my every worst nightmare."

She watched as he stared out of his office window, and realised his gaze was fixed on Ruth Evershed._ Interesting,_ she thought, filing that piece of information away.

Harry turned and walked back to his desk. "We need to discuss contingency plans."

Juliet nodded. "I've already ordered that the Royals be taken up to Balmoral. So that's one less concern - although ERII has an official engagement in two weeks' time which will need covering."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "As horrendous as it sounds, I suspect gas masks are the only protection we might usefully suggest." He shook his head. "But you and I both know it's not the Royals they want. If they're planning an attack it'll be on the Underground, or in a shopping centre. Large but enclosed spaces with plenty of victims."

"Then perhaps we should put gas masks back into production and begin considering a way to distribute them if deemed necessary."

The head of Section D barked another cold laugh. "My god, Juliet! Are we seriously considering taking the UK back to the days of the First World War?"

Juliet gritted her teeth. "Show me a better option, Harry, and we'll consider it."

"The better option is to foil this attack and arrest those responsible."

She smiled tightly. "Well then, I believe that leads us neatly back to you, doesn't it?" Juliet turned and headed for the door. "Call me when you have something other than a need for a pep talk."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	13. Chapter 13

A Distant War 13

A/N: OK, so I arrived at a new freelance post today to discover that what the mag really needs is a production manager, not a sub-editor. So I think that I'm going to be pretty pushed for time over the next week. Didn't want to lose momentum by not posting, but this is all I could manage on the train. It's quite melancholy...

* * *

The sun was setting over the city, shattered light burning through the pensive clouds and diffusing against London's plethora of glass. Harry leaned against the iron railing and contemplated the city's twisting, haphazard geography. A chill drizzle was blowing in with the evening wind, and he shivered, his shirt not enough against the gathering storm.

He heard the heavy door open behind him and turned to see Ruth, a mug in each hand, shouldering it open. Her look of concentration turned into a smile as their eyes met. She offered him a drink.

"Thanks. How did you know I'd be up here?"

She bunched her shoulders, briefly, against the wind. "Where else would you be?"

He nodded and turned back to the view as she leaned beside him. Harry looked down and was struck by the image of London as a living thing, a breathing thing, with its' buildings all vital organs and the people that walked its roads blood in its' arteries. And if one of those arteries was cut...

"It's too much," he said aloud, fingers grasping at the heat of the mug.

"We've dealt with worse, Harry."

"Have we? When?"

"Nothing's happened yet."

He took a gulp of coffee, and although he knew it was too hot to swallow, swallowed anyway. "I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to get Adam back. I don't-"

Harry felt a light pressure on his arm and looked down to see her hand, slender fingers stretched wide across his bicep. She left it there for several moments, before tucking it back into the pocket of her coat.

"I think I've got a few possible leads on the chemical buying front," Ruth said a few minutes later. "GCHQ are looking into it to see if they come up with any watch list cross-overs. I've got a couple of enquiries in about specifics of the purchases. We should know something more by morning."

"That's good."

"I'm going to have to go home," she said, her words tracing through the evening air as the drizzle turned into earnest rain. "I've... not been there much recently. My cats..."

Harry took another mouthful of coffee, cooler now. "You don't have to explain, Ruth. You have a life to live."

She seemed to find something amusing in that, looking out across the darkening skyline as she smiled. "I'll be in early tomorrow."

"I don't doubt it. Goodnight, Ruth."

"Night, Harry. Don't stay out here in the cold." She moved away, taking several steps before hesitantly turning back."You're not alone, Harry," Ruth said softly, words almost lost to the wind. "We're all here. I'm here."

He stared at her, and she let him see her eyes before turning away again. Harry listened to her leave, desperately wanting to tell her to stay.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	14. Chapter 14

A Distant War pt 14

A/N: Okay, I'm trying to get back into this - sorry it's been so long since I updated. This is a bit of a placeholder chapter as I try to get my head back in the game. Thanks to anyone still reading!

* * *

Shots echoed out behind them as they ran, dodging the bullets that tore through the verdant jungle foliage. Adam was ahead, forcing his way through the undergrowth with his arms up in front of his face, trying to shield his eyes from the violent lash of leaves and branches. He could hear Thomas behind him, trying to keep up, his breathing difficult and fractured in the humid air. Another bullet thudded sharply into a tree trunk just ahead of him and he forged on past it, zig-zagging as much as he could, trying to make aiming difficult for their pursuers.

They'd been taken by surprise as they made their way out of Amutankulam. Perhaps they hadn't left early enough in the day, and the sun was already too high for darkness to mask their exit. Or perhaps one of the scrawny children they'd seen herding the even scrawnier cattle had spotted them and made a report. Either way, the shots had come before they'd gone deeply enough into the forest to adequately vanish, and all they could do was run. Adam had taken them on a vaguely looping route that he'd hoped would lead them away from their intended path to Nedunkeni, but god knew he had no real knowledge of where they were going to end up - if they survived.

As if on cue there was a strangled yelp behind him, followed by the sound of something crashing heavily to the ground. He spun to see Thomas trying to drag himself up, blood spattered the length of his leg. Adam went back for him, dodging yet more gunfire.

"You have to get up," he shouted, dragging the journalist by the arm.

"My leg..."

Hauling him upright, Adam glanced down to see blood pouring from a through-and-through wound to the man's calf. Nowhere near an artery, thank god, but he wouldn't be able to run. And worse, he was leaving a clear trail. Pushing Thomas against a tree trunk, Adam yanked a bandage from his pack and hurriedly wrapped the wound before pulling his companion's arm back around his shoulders.

"You're going to have to leave me," Thomas shouted as they crashed onwards.

"Don't you start with all that cliched crap," Adam managed, through gritted teeth. "I thought even you were a better hack than that."

There was a muted moment of something that could have been humour, but they were too consumed by the situation to enjoy it. Thomas twisted his head up, looking at the canopy above them.

"We can't outrun them," he said, "they're so close now, I can hear them shouting. We have to go up."

"What?"

"Up. Up! Into the trees. Come on, secret agent man, this is no time to hesitate!"

Adam followed his example, glancing up at the enormous tree trunks surrounding them. They'd have to go high to avoid detection. "You think you can make that?"

"The survival instinct is a wonderful thing."

Adam nodded, pushing the injured journalist to the nearest tree and boosting him to the first hand-hold. "Hurry," he ordered shortly. Thomas did as he was told, clawing his way up the bark as quickly as he could given the pain he must have been in. Adam watched, continually glancing over his shoulder in the direction of their pursuers. They were so close, so close...

He saw movement and could wait no longer, following Thomas up the tree, almost on his heels. They scrambled as fast as they could, but the journalist's strength was waning and Adam soon overtook him. Reaching the first strong layer of branches, he looked down and reached out a hand to help Thomas, bodily dragging him up. Their clothes were so dirty that they might have well have been wearing camouflage.

"This is as high as we're going to make it," Adam whispered hoarsely, as the men chasing them grew ever nearer. "Cover your face, still still... and _pray_."

* * *

"It's good to see you."

Jo smiled, watching Zaf through the dividing glass on the small consultation room they'd been allocated in the benefit office. His face was anxious, eyes restless. He looked tired and pale. "We don't have long, I'm afraid," she told him, and watched him nod.

"There were some more documents, with the ones that I photographed," Zaf began, "but I didn't have time to catalogue them all together. When I went back, they had been moved. I can't risk searching the house for them - they'll be locked away again somewhere, anyway."

She nodded. "We're working with what we have. And we'll be watching the cell closely. But that won't give us the specifics we need."

"I know. I'm on it. But they're very cagey, very cautious. I'm only supposed to know about the Wootton Bassett attack. I don't think even the others within the cell at my level know about it. If I go asking questions about an attack that no one's even mentioned to me in passing..."

"I know, Zaf. But you know what's at stake. This thing... this attack they're planning - it's terror on a scale we haven't dealt with before. We have to know more before we can prevent it."

It was his turn to nod. "Tell Harry I'll get what Five needs. I've got another meeting with Kunar's people in," he looked at his watch, "25 minutes. I'd better get going."

Jo reached out, taking the fake documentation he'd brought as part of the cover for the meeting and adding the required official stamp.

"How's Adam?"

She looked up. "He's okay."

"Is he back yet?"

Jo hesitated, and cursed herself for it. Zaf was sharp, sharp enough to have picked up on her pause. No point lying. Not completely, anyway. "No. Not yet."

"Why not?" Zaf asked immediately, "That op was only supposed to take a week. What's happened?"

"A complication. But nothing to worry about. He's fine, it's just taking longer than we thought."

Zaf nodded. "Well, next time you speak to him, tell him to stop sunning himself on the bloody beach and get back here to give us a hand, would you?" The smile he gave her was forced, a shadow of his usual teasing. "Some of us are doing real work, here."

She smiled back. "Will do."

He stood, and took a deep breath. As he let it go, she saw all his tension and anxiety go with the exhalation, until his face looked as nonchalant as when he'd first walked into the room. He looked ready. Ready to meet these terrorists. Ready to resume his cover. Ready to put his life back on the line for his country. In that moment, Jo admired him more than she would ever be able to express.

* * *

Zaf sat quietly as the other members of the cell filed in. They were all young men, just seven besides himself and Kunar, and none who looked over the age of 25. Some of them wore permanent expressions of dissatisfaction and insolence, but the others looked like any person he could have passed in the street. He wondered, not for the first time, how it could have come to this: young men with their lives ahead of them conspiring to cause death and destruction to their fellow citizens.

He thought, perhaps, that that was the point. For whatever reason, these men had never been encouraged to think of the people they were aiming to maim as fellow citizens. It wasn't Zaf's place to speculate about who's fault that was - state, parents, school, media - but he had a feeling it was an isolation that planted early and, once germinated, was almost impossible to reverse.

Kunar led the discussion, which turned out to be a logistics meeting about the Wootton Bassett attack. What they were planning would be crude in its execution, although the rest of the cell seemed not to understand that. As an informed outside, Zaf could see clearly that the Wootton Bassett attack was not supposed to succeed. These youngsters would be sacrificing themselves without having even been consulted - they would blunder the attack by design and would be rounded up by the authorities, who would spend the next few days clapping each other on the back and telling the nation that a huge and dastardly terrorist plan had been foiled. And meanwhile, Kunar and his accomplices' true agenda would quietly and neatly slip into first gear.

He wrung his hands, forcing himself to concentrate on the pointless minutiae of Kunar's instructions. The meeting lasted about an hour, and each of them were given 'assignments' to study before the next meeting the following day. Then they all filed out as quickly as they had arrived.

All except Kunar and two of the regular meeting, whom Zaf noted did not leave with the others. As he stepped out into the cold, clear night, Zaf paused to look up at the stars, wondering briefly which of the houses opposite was playing home to Jo and the surveillance team. He trusted them to note the late leavers.

But it was down to him to find a way in.

* * *

True to her word, Ruth walked back through the pods and onto the grid at 5.45am the following morning. The customary hum of a myriad electronic circuits greeted her as the rarified air settled. She could see that Malcolm's computer was on, though he wasn't at his desk. he'd either be making coffee or grabbing a ten-minute nap somewhere. She didn't seek him out - if Adam had made contact, he would have called.

She headed for her own desk, dropping her bag on top of a pile of paperwork and shedding her coat as she reached to turn her computer on. Ruth had felt guilty leaving the previous night - it seemed wrong, somehow, after spending four nights here with Malcolm. In some ways, she felt more at home here than she did in her own house, though perhaps that wasn't surprising given the comparative amounts of time she spent in each. Ruth thought guiltily about the cats - she'd got them to alleviate her own loneliness, and yet it was they that suffered when Five was stretched to the limit. She made a mental promise that when this particular crisis was over, she'd spend more time at home. She should anyway, of course - how would she ever have a life outside the service if she spent all her time within it?

Shrugging off such thoughts, she reached for one of the stack of papers that had been left for her overnight. It was a GCHQ report of watch list suspects that may be of interest given their current investigation. Casting her eyes down the list, Ruth sighed - there were over 250 names, each with their own summary report. She sat down and began to read.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	15. Chapter 15

A Distant War Pt 15

* * *

There was a brief knock at the door before Ruth entered.

"Harry - I think I've got something."

Harry looked up at her. Ruth looked intent - almost as intent as when he'd arrived that morning, when she'd been so engrossed in whatever it was she was doing he'd not wanted to bother her with their customary 'Good Morning'. Their brief encounter of the previous night was still looming in his memory - the touch of her hand on his arm, however ephemeral, had been more of a salve than he would rationally like to admit and the gentle reminder of her support as she'd left had fired more than gratitude in his blood. He pushed these thoughts away, determined not to let this growing affection take hold, especially not now. Could there be _anything_ less appropriate in his mind at this moment?

"What is it?"

"GCHQ sent over their watchlist matches this morning," she said, heading for his desk and putting down the papers she held. "Most of them were red herrings, and none of them were direct links."

"But..." Harry prompted, sensing one coming.

She smiled. "_But,_ there were a couple I thought warranted further investigation. Again, there was nothing direct… but I think this woman is the key." Ruth slid out a black and white image of a young woman of about 25, wearing a white medical coat.

"Who is she?"

"Carrie Plover, PhD research student at the School of Chemistry, University of Birmingham."

"Don't tell me - her name appeared on your list of those purchasing nerve agents."

"Not hers specifically, but the School of Chemistry as a whole, so she - or someone close to her, possibly - may have had access."

Harry frowned, picking up the picture of the young woman and glancing over it and her meagre file. She appeared to be a rising star in the British petro-chemical field. There was nothing untoward in her biography.

"What's she doing on a GCHQ watchlist?"

"Before beginning her PhD two years ago, she spent some time travelling, doing volunteer work."

Harry glanced up. "Where?"

"Pakistan." Ruth pulled out another photograph of the young woman, obviously screen-grabbed from the internet. This time Plover was backed by a bright blue sky and surrounded by grinning children, accompanied by several adults. Ruth pointed to one of the men. "This is Humam Abdul Haq. He's a British national, flagged by the security services as a matter of course when he visited Pakistan, with the same volunteer organisation, though he had no known fanatical connections. He returned within a year, several months after Carrie Plover."

"And his significance?"

Ruth handed Harry another photograph - this time a black and white surveillance shot. He laid the two side by side. "This was taken by Jo's team yesterday. These two men joined Zaf's group at the same time as the others - but left several hours after the main meeting had broken up."

Harry peered at the images, comparing the two before tapping one of the faces on the surveillance shot. "Humam Abdul Haq."

"Yes."

He looked up at her with naked admiration. "Good work, Ruth."

She shrugged away the compliment. "It may not mean anything."

Harry stood, "It's the most we have right now. And I think it means that you and I are taking a trip to the midlands."

* * *

Adam's admiration for Stephen Thomas was growing by the hour. They'd spent an uncomfortable night crouched in the branches of the tree, listening as below them the search went on. Several hours after their pursuers had passed below their hiding place, they had obviously given up, crossing below them once more as they returned to the camp. Thomas had hardly moved in all that time, despite the unimaginable pain that his leg wound must have been causing. Adam had bound the wound as best he could, and the blood seemed to have stopped flowing. But any wound left untreated - particularly in this humid atmosphere - would turn nasty soon enough.

The sun was setting again when Adam nudged the journalist from his fractious slumber. "We've got to move."

Thomas, eyes only half open, nodded. "Okay," he said, voice croaking faintly against the jungle cacophony. "You first."

Nodding, Adam slid back down the tree, pausing several times to listen for the tell-tale signs of a hunting party, but there was nothing. Once back on the ground, he gestured for Thomas to begin his descent. By the time the injured man reached the jungle floor, he needed Adam's support just to keep upright.

"We're never going to make it to Nedunkeni like this," Thomas whispered hoarsely.

"If you've got a better idea, mate, now's the time to voice it," said Adam, pulling the journalist's arm around his shoulder and fixing his other arm around the man's waist. "And don't start with all that 'Leave me behind, Adam' crap again."

Thomas snorted, a combination of laughter and pain, and together they set off. The pace was excruciatingly slow, and privately Adam had to agree with Thomas - if this continued, they wouldn't make it back to Amutankulam, let alone beyond - and that was assuming Adam could work out where they were. At the moment, he was just heading in a direction his compass promised was south, praying that at some point they'd intersect with a road. Add to that the fact that Adam's limbs were already burning with the exertion of having to practically carry another man over atrocious terrain, and the outlook was not looking rosy.

Yet despite the obvious peril and discomfort they were in, Stephen Thomas hadn't once complained. He was a hardy soul, and Adam couldn't help but think he'd make a useful addition to Five - though he doubted the man's morals would allow him to join the security services, even if they did survive this ordeal.

Adam's thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected flash of light, somewhere in the bushes to his right. He dropped to his knees immediately, pulling Thomas down with him. They stayed there, crouched, for several minutes - but there was no gunfire, no sound of angry shouts or feet pounding through the forest. He indicated for the journalist to stay put and stay silent before raising his head to peer out from behind the bush they had landed in.

Nothing. Everything was still in the gathering dark. And then he caught the flash again, somewhere several meters in front of them. It was a reflected light, something glinting in the dying rays of the Sri Lankan sun.

He turned to Thomas, who's eyes were shut. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

The journalist waved him away with a faint smile. "You go. I'll have breakfast waiting…"

Adam approached the source of the reflection carefully, before realising that he had no reason to worry. The light was coming from the broken wing mirror on the rusted wreck of an old truck, it's front wheels twisted at an irreparable angle. Probably abandoned by a farmer when he realised that recovery would be too expensive for his desperate circumstances, and left to the jungle. There was no way it would ever move again.

But as Adam stared at it, an idea began to form. Finally, with a grin, he went back to Thomas. Maybe they'd get out of this mess after all.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	16. Chapter 16

A Distant War - part 16

* * *

The office belonging to the Dean of Birmingham's School of Chemistry was stark and functional, much like the woman herself. Her assistant ushered Harry and Ruth in, taking their beverage orders as they seated themselves in the two chairs arranged in front of the Dean's desk.

"Mr Pearce - I can't say I'm not concerned by your request," began Dean Brent, after greeting them both. "Ms Plover is one of our most talented and dedicated research scientists. I don't like the idea of her being disturbed about something that seems so unlikely to be connected to her."

"Why is it quite so unlikely, Mrs Brent?"

She regarded him cooly. "Dean, please, _Mr_ Pearce. Well, you say that you have photographic evidence that she's connected to this... _Humam _person you are evidently seeking, but as far as I can see, all you have is a photograph from her volunteer days. Those organisations employ thousands of temporary employees every week, so it's no surprise that there are some coincidental crossovers. Whatever he has done, it is highly improbable Carrie is involved."

Harry nodded. "Of course it may be no more than a coincidence, Dean, but that does not remove the fact that there is a connection, however tenuous. It is down to us to investigate, hence our request."

The assistant returned with the coffee, leaving again swiftly, and Brent waited until the door had shut behind her.

"What is it you suspect this person of, exactly?"

"I'm sure you understand that I can't tell you the specifics, Dean Brent."

She narrowed her eyes. "How convenient. Your answer, and our status as a chemical research laboratory, naturally leads me to certain conclusions, Mr Pearce, especially since you are - or at least, you _say_ you are from - the Home Office. Let me tell you that I am vehemently opposed to the culture of secrecy and paranoia that is being cultivated in this country under the flawed guise of national security. If I were able, I would have you removed from the premises and tell you to return with sufficient evidence for a police search warrant."

Harry smiled tightly and stood up, tiring of her obstructive attitude. "It is perhaps fortunate then,_ Mrs _Brent, that my authority outweighs yours. We are here in this office as a courtesy, nothing more. Now please - tell us where to find Carrie Plover."

Ten minutes later, they were following the Dean's anxious-looking assistant towards the laboratory block. Harry glanced sideways at Ruth - it wasn't often they were required to work together outside the Grid. Her usually expressive face was schooled into studied calm - the picture of good tradecraft. He was enjoying working beside her.

Carrie Plover turned out to be more striking in the flesh than her photograph suggested. Her long red hair was tied back, framing a pale, angular face and large green eyes that crinkled with concern when they showed her their 'Home Office' credentials. She led them into a small ante-room at the far end of the lab and shut the door. From the photographs on the modest desk, it seemed to be Plover's own office. Recognition flared in her eyes as she looked at the photograph Harry held out.

"Yes, I know Humam - or I did. I haven't seen him for a long time."

"How long?"

"Oh, I don't know exactly. It must be a year now." A piece of apparatus beeped on the bench behind her and she turned to attend to it. "Why are you looking for him?"

"Just a few routine enquiries," Harry said, obliquely. "Do you remember much about him from your time in Pakistan?"

Plover turned back toward them with something like grief in her eyes. "Just because he's Muslim and spent time in Pakistan does not make him a terrorist."

"I'm not suggesting it does, Ms Plover. I'm just-"

"He was always such a gentle guy. He really cared about those kids, probably more than any of us there. Which is why, when it happened, he totally went to pieces." She placed her hands flat on the table and bowed her head. "We all did, really, but he suffered the most, I think."

"What do you mean, 'When it happened'?" Ruth asked. "When what happened?"

Carrie looked up at them with a frown. "Wait. I thought - I thought that was why you came to me. Because I was there. If you're from the Home Office..."

"We are."

"Because if you're not, I would never have said - why else would you be looking for Humam? I mean, I signed the Official Secrets Act, I could go to prison for talking about it-"

Harry held up a hand to calm her down. "Carrie. One thing at a time. You're not going anywhere for speaking to us, I assure you. Just tell us - what happened in Pakistan?"

It took some convincing before she would tell them anything. "I don't know why you need me to tell you this," Plover repeated. "If you're part of the government, surely you already know."

"It doesn't always work that way, Carrie," Ruth said, with an encouraging smile. Her calm demeanor was clearly putting the young woman at ease, and Harry was again glad that he'd asked Ruth to accompany him.

Plover nodded, absently twirling a pen in her hands as she finally began to speak. "For the first few months it was fine," she said. "Well, not fine - the people in the villages there are the definition of poverty-stricken. Little food, no clean water supply... in summer the sun is strong enough to burn through the clothes on your back, and in winter it's so cold the ground freezes solid. But the children are so beautiful, so friendly - all the people are, really." She shook her head. "We were there to build a well. Humam worked so hard. When we had down-time, which wasn't often, he'd spend his teaching the children English. He really wanted to make a difference."

The scientist paused to slip off her lab coat and undo the cuff on her shirt. She rolled up the sleeve to expose a long, jagged scar that bisected her slim arm from elbow to wrist.

"The airstrike wasn't meant for the village. It was supposed to destroy a Taliban camp that the Americans thought was a little way north of us. But something went wrong. They must have miscalculated or something. The missile hit the village dead-centre. You have no idea. The place was built of wood... it could barely survive the coming winter, let alone an airstrike. Everything, everywhere, was on fire, and what wasn't on fire was shattered by the blast. The volunteers were camped on the outskirts, and that's the only thing that saved us - although a lot of us were badly hurt. We tried to help the people, but there was so little we could do. We could hear them screaming, seeing them trying to run from the flames..." Plover broke off for a moment, before taking a deep breath and continuing. "Humam was frantic. It was so hot, it was as if the air itself was on fire, but he kept trying to drag people to safety. The children - the bodies of the children…" She took a breath again. "Anyway, the Americans must have realised pretty quickly what had happened, as they arrived with an army helicopter to airlift us out just a few hours later. But Humam refused to come with us. He said he had to help the survivors - there was an American medic there, trying to save them. So he stayed."

"And you were brought home?" Ruth asked, voice gentle.

"Not immediately. They took us to a base in Germany." Plover pulled a wry face. "They didn't want the press seeing pictures of injured aid workers returning to Britain. They kept us there until we were healed. And until we'd gone through various breifings and signed the papers. They never said it outright, but the implication was that we wouldn't be allowed home until every one of us had signed the Official Secrets Act. I guess killing 150 civillians in one fell swoop wasn't something they were going to let go public."

Harry crossed his arms with a brief nod. "And the statute of limitations on the paperwork was set at 70 years."

Ruth looked at him, incredulous. "Seventy years? Not the usual 30?" Harry nodded, and watched the realisation dawn on her face. "The same as with the Dr David Kelly affair. They want everyone involved to be safely out of the way before it became public. You've heard of this incident?"

"Yes, although only in the vaguest terms, which is why I didn't realise the connection earlier. It was only brought to my attention when it seemed likely a journalist for The Guardian had got wind of it." He addressed Plover. "I'm right in thinking that Humam came to see you when he returned to the UK?"

Plover nodded. "Yes. And he… was so thin. So haunted. I asked where he'd been - because I'd been trying to find him. He just said he'd stayed on in Pakistan to help out." She sighed. "I know that sounds like exactly the sort of incident that would radicalise someone - but you have to believe me. Humam could never kill anyone. Just seeing those children die destroyed him. He's so compassionate."

"Did he ever come here, to the lab?"

"No, never."

"What about your home?"

"My flat? Yes, he stopped there a couple of nights the last time I saw him. He said he just needed somewhere to be for a while. I thought it was the least I could do."

Harry nodded, crossing to the office door and looking through the glass panel at the larger laboratory. "What's the security on these laboratories? Key pad? Swipe card?"

"A swipe card, with additional key pads for the specimen and chemical storage areas."

"Have you ever lost your swipe card?"

Plover grimaced. "Only once, about a year ago. Bloody nightmare. They charged me £50 for a replacement and I had to sign a million forms."

Harry nodded again, walking back to join them. "Tell me exactly when Humam stayed at your flat, Carrie."

There was a moment of silence, and then Carrie Plover's shoulders sagged. Harry offered her a small smile and reached out to squeeze her arm gently. "Miss Plover. We are going to ask for your help. And believe me when I say that more than 150 lives are at stake on your answer."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
